> N- XXVI. 



OXBERRYS 
JVEW 



[ \<Bn^Ush litr^m^> 






^ 



li DEAF AND DUMB, 






AN HISTORICAL DRAMA J 



BY 



^oltvoft 



I boston: 

I PUBLISHED BY WELLS Al^D LILLY,— COURT-STREET 

I AJfD 

I A. T. GOODRICH & CO. NEW- YORK. 

I 1822, 



t 

i 

t 
i 



= ! 



m^m 



COJJTAINEB IX THIS EDITIOIf, AS FAR AS YET PUB- 
LISHED im engijAnv, 



No. 1 

2 
3 
4 



I 12 
13 

d^ 
Vl5 

1/16 

^^ 
v<^24 

\ 29 

V<51 

^ 32 

^ 33 

V 34 

,. 35 



A New Way to Pay OlvfsG Country Girl. 

Debts. K>7 Jane Shore. 

Rivals. ^ 38 Critic. * 



West Indian. 

Hypocrite. j^i 

Jealous Wife. ^^ 

She Stoops to Conquer, 
Richard III. 



V^ 



Beggar's Opera. 

Wonder. 

Duenna. ♦ > 

Alexander the Great- » 

Lionel and Clarissa. 

Hamlet. 

Venice Preserved. 

Is He Jealous ? * 

Woodman's Hut. * 

Love in a Village. 

Way to Keep Him. 

Castle Spectre. 

Maid of the Mill. 



39 Coriolanus. 

40 Rosina. * 
^^1 Suspicious Husband. 

42 Honest Thieves. * 

43 Mayor of Garratt. 



X 



w ^44 Merry Wives of Windsor. 



45 Stranger. 

46 Three Weeks alter Mar- 
riage. * 

47 King Lear. 
i'48 Inconstant. 

^^49 Shipwreck. * 
V/ 50 Rugantino. * 
>^"51 Wild Oats. 
%f52 Rule a Wife and Have a 
/ Wife. 

53 Magpie. * 



Distressed Mother. 
Provoked Husband. 
Deaf and Dumb. 
Busy Body. 
Belle's Stratagem. 
Romeo and Juliet. 
Recruiting Officer. 



^^54 Quaker. * 
Clandestine Marriage.V. 55 Merchant of Venice 
Soldier's Daughter. \^'M Wheel of Fortune. 
Othello. V 57 Rob Roy. 

lf«8 Citizen. * 

^$9 Deserter. * 
60 Miser. * 
jv6l Guy Mannering. 
>: 62 Cymbeline. 
^ 63 Lying Valet. * 
\,%\ Twelfth Night. 



Bold Stroke for a Wife^^5 The Confederacy 
V^66 Douglas. 



Road to Ruin 
Beaux' Stratagem. 
As you Like It. 
King John. 



, 67 Who's the Dupe ? * 
^ 68 Know Your own Mind. 



O* Those marked thu^ * are Farces or Melo-drames ; iht 
prices of which are 20 cents ; the Plays and Operas 25 cents. 



Iliillli 



"**"■■•'" — 



^trticcvs's 3S9(tian. 



DEAF AND DUMB, 

AN HISTORICAL DRAMAj 

il2 ^fiomuB ^oltvott 



WITH PREFATORY REMARKS. 

THE ONLY EDITION EXISTING, WHICH IS FAITHFULLY 

MARKED WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, 

AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, 

AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE 
By W. OXBERRY, Comedian. 



boston: 

PUBLISHED BY WELLS AND LILLY — COURT-STREET 
AI^D A, T. GOODRICH & CO. — NEW-YORIT, 

1822. 



MtmuvUu. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 



Iv HE Story of Deaf and Dumb is one of the most affecting 
and romantic on the stage. The idea of the poor orphan 
boy who is the subject of it, thrown out helpless and unpitied 
on the world, torn by the cruelty of a relation from his place 
in society, and deprived by niggard nature of the means of 
appealing to the humanity of strangers, and yet returning 
at last, after his forlorn wanderings and desolate hopes, 
under the guidance of his kind instructor, to his birth-place, 
his early friends and the home of his forefathers, excites 
the purest and deepest interest. Deaf and Dumb is a sort of 
sentimental pantomime, exquisitely happy in the construc- 
tion of the fable and tender in the sympathy it inspires ; and 
may be considered as a practical test how far situation and 
feeling alone will go to the production of the most powerful 
and even refined dramatic effect, without the help of poetry 
or impassioned dialogue. For Julio, the injured heir of 
Harancour, we certainly feel the true touches of pity. If 
the lips are dumb, the heart speaks out ; and looks are 
breathing eloquence. The description of him lost on the 
Pont-neuf, at Paris, his re-appearance before the Palace of 
Harancour at Toulouse, and the mute and rapturous joy 
which be expresses, stir what is human in the breast. The 



.tear starts from the moistened eye, the sigh heaves from the 
labouring bosom. We feel a greater interest and a greater 
respect for human nature, from witnessing its hidden re- 
sources, its capacities for pleasure or pain in this its ob- 
truncated and half finished state, and learn the value of 
human life from its privations. This play is a truly moral 
drama, and purifies the affections by terror and pity. That 
it is founded on fact, does not lessen the interest, nor, as it 
ends happily, embitter the pleasure. The effect is greatest 
on the stage, but it is not confined to it. In the reading, it 
has all the effect of the most romantic novel. When it was 
first brought out in this country, it had the singular ad- 
vantages of having Mr. Kemble for the representative of 
the accomplished and humane Abbe de VEpee, and Miss 
De Camp as the representative of the speechless Julio. This 
lady's acting of the part was one of the most finished exhi- 
bitions of the art. Perhaps no one ever expressed sense or 
feeling so well by gesticulation and manner alone. There 
was a vivacity and tenderness equally delightful. In the 
most trying scenes, her heart seemed at her mouth, though 
the tongue denied its office. Her face was radiant with 
meaning ; and in the words of an old poet, 

" Her pure and eloquent blood distinctly wrought, 
" That you might almost say her body thought." 

The original play is in French, by Mr. Bouilly ; and Mr. 
HoLCROFT has done a service to the English Stage, by his 
excellent adaptation of it. 

Thomas HoLeRorr, was born in Orange Court, Lei- 
cester Fields, December 22, 1744. His father was a shoe- 
maker ; a calling for which his son always retained a pe- 
culiar respect. When Mr. Holcroft was in his teens, he 
was a servant to the Hon. Mr. Vernon ; his chief employ- 
ment was to ride his master's race-horses, which were in 



training to run at Newmarket, and he was afterwards 
much devoted to the art of horsemanship. He was also 
considerably attached to the study of music ; and some time 
after applied much of his attention to connoisseurship in 
painting. Mr. Holcroft had an active mind, and was no 
sooner aware of any path that led to improvement and ex- 
cellence, than he was anxious to enter that path. Notwith- 
standing this, he persevered to the age of twenty-five years, 
with some little interruption, in his father's trade of a shoe- 
maker. 

About the period of life above alluded to, Mr. Holcroft 
conceived a passion for the stage, and offered his services 
at the same time to Mr. Charles Macklin and Mr. Samuel 
Foote. Foote encouraged him, but Macklin talked to him 
in so specious a style, and held out to him so many tempta- 
tions and prospects, which were never realized that he was 
induced to decide for Macklin and Ireland ; a decision 
which he continued long to repent. 

In the profession of a player Mr. Holcroft continued, not 
with the most flattering success, till after the production of 
his play oi Duplicity^ in 1781. Im^jediately on the exhi- 
bition of this comedy, he withdrew from the stage as an 
actor, and for several years devoted his attention principal- 
ly to dramatic composition. He died on Thursday March 
23, 1809, at the age of 63. His Dramatic works are as fol- 
lows. 

*«The Crisis," CO. 1778.— N P. " Duplicity," C. 8vo. 
1781.—" Noble Peasant," CO. 8vo. 1784.— " Follies of a 
Day," C 8vo. 1784.—" The Choleric Fathers," CO. 8vo. 
1785.— "Death of Adam," S.D. 8vo. 1786.— " Hagar in 
the Wilderness," S.D. 8vo. 1786. — "Joseph made known 
to his Brethren," S.D. 8vo. 1786.—" Return of Tobias," 
S.D. 8vo. 1786."— "Ruth and Naomi," S.D. 8vo. 1786.— 



;^ Sacrifice of Isaac," S.D. 8vo. 1786.--" Widow of Serep- 
ta,-' S.D. 8vo. 1786.— -"Seduction," C. 8vo. 1787.— " Louis 
in the Elysian Fields," D. 8vo. 1789.—" The School of the 
World," Com. trans. 8vo. 1789.— "Tantalus at law," Com. 
trans. 1789.— "School for Arrogance," C. 8vo. 1792.— "Road 
to Ruin," C. 8vo. 1792.—" Love's Frailties," C. 8vo. 1794.— 
"Rival Queens," Prel. 1794.-N.P. "Deserted Daughter," C. 
8vo. 1795.-" Man of Ten Thousand," C. 8vo. 1796.-"Force 
of Ridicule," C. 1796.— N.P. " Knave or Not," C. 8vo. 
1798.—" Deaf and Dumb," H.D. 8vo. 1801.— (Under the 
name of Herbert Hill.) " Tale of Mystery," Mel. Dr. 
8vo. 1802.—" Hear both Sides," C. 8vo. 1803.— "The Two 
Friends," Dr. Prov. 4to. 1804.— "The Play is Over," D. 
Prov. 4to. 1804.—" Lady of the Rock," Mel. Dr. 8vo. 1805. 
— " Vindictive Man," C. 8vo. 1806.— The following have 
likewise been ascribed to his pen ; — " The German Hotel," 
C. 8vo. 1790. — (Under the name of Marshall.) " The 
Inquisitor," P. 8vo. 1798.— "He's Much to Blame," C. 8vo, 
1798. 



lirolofiue. 



WRITTEir BY CHARLES MOORE, ESa. 

SPOKEN BY MR. POWELL. 



Just is the censure of the vent'rous wight 
Who wings for novelty a lawless flight ; 
Whose Muse, from rational restriction free, 
Paints, what " nor was, nor is, nor e'er shall be." 
Who thinks the probable too duly true, 
And keep the dubious possible in view. 
Though vainly he to fair applause pretends, 
Whose art commences just where Nature ends; 
Yet in the Drama's right, I must here claim 
All natures offspring as our lawful game ; 
Ours the free privilege to copy here. 
Each varied form Humanity can wear, 
To win the smile, or w^ake the moral tear. 

Our Author aims at novelty, 'tis true ; 
But is the picture false, because 'tis new? 
Consents our age to imitate alone, 
And build on no foundations of its own, 
Tho' Nature still from her exhaustless stoie. 
Pour forth new treasures, and still teem with more ? 
Think not, we mean, in decency's neglect, 
To sport with frailty, and to mock defect ; 



PROLOGUE. 

To bid mean souls with selfish triumph see 

Two wants, at least, from which themselves are free. 

The sage yet lives whose toils immortal shew. 
What human powers without these aids can do. 
Taught by commanding genius to restrain 
Their causeless pride — who hear and speak in vain. 
To prove thatpertness wisely had resign'd 
Her fluent utterance for a fluent mind ; 
And changM for ears, with folly's jargon fraught, 
The keener sense of uncorrupted thought. 



JSutloflur* 



WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAW, ESa. 

SPOKEN BY MISS DE CAMP. 

Here's Dumby come to speak — 'twas ten to one 
That I had talk'd before the play was done. 
X)f all our authors, he is far most cunning 
Who can ensure a woman's tongue from running. 
Speech is our nature ; — if I err, convict me — 
What Bachelor so rude to contradict me? 
Talking'sour charter ;— more than life we prize it ; 
I'm sure no married gentleman denies it. 
Speech is our birth-right — ask the ladies whether :— 
They'll all maintain it — and all talk together. 

The woman who cried pippins on the ice 
Fell in, and cut her head off in a trice ; 
Her head slid on, still jealous of its power, 
And bawl'd out " Pip, pip, pip," for half an hour. 
*'Our charter prov'd, in my own right I come 
To ask you how you like the Deaf and Dumb ? 
Be not too noisy, gentlemen I Why need you ? 
Our charter \ Women's voices supersede you. 
Pray, ladies, tell them what they ought to say 1 
You smile ! — I thank you. — And so speed our play- 
One dumhy in our piece 'twas bold to try — 
Strike not the talkers, all, as dumb as I ! 

If here to-night our efforts be rejected, 
For the first time, an Orphan's unprotected. 
If to the summit of our wish we reach. 
Then, unlike women, gratitude wants speech. 
2 * 



ZTune of l^e])t:eisentatton. 



The time this piece takes in representation, is tvvq 
liours and twenty-seven minutes. The first act occupies 
the space of thirty-two minutes — the second, twenty-two 
— the third, thirty-one — the fourth, seventeen — and the 
fifth, forty-five minutes. — The half-price commences, gene- 
rally, at a quarter before nine o'clock. 



Stage Directions. 



By R.H. ----- is meant Right Hand. 

L.H. ^ -- Left Hand, 

S.E. ---.-.-- Second Entrance^ 

u.E. - — ---- — Upper Entrance. 

M.D. - Middle Door. 

p.F. Door in Flat. 

R.H.D. .--- Right Hand Door. 

?..H»I), -• Left Hand Door. 



(tontnmt. 



JULIO. 
Slate coloured coat and pantaloons, half boots, and white hat. 
DE L'EPEE. 

Suit of black cloth, slate coloured great coat, black velvet collar and 
cuffs. 

ST. ALME. 

French grey regimental, faced with black, white waistcoat and breeches, 
white sash, military hat with white feather. 

DARLEMONT. 
Embroidered court suit of brown velvet. Blue silk morning gown. 

FRANVAL. 
A suit of black, counsellor's gown, band, &c. 

DOMINIQUE. 
Old fashioned brown suit, and little cocked hat* 

DUPRE. 
An old gentleman's suit of brown cloth. 
PIERRE. 

A superb livery. 

MADAME FRANVAL. 

Green satin open dress, trimmed with gold, white crape petticoat 
trimmed with gold. 

MARIANNE. 
White leno dress trimmed with white satin ribbon and flowers. 
CLAUDINE. 

Black silk open gown, blue stuff petticeat, white apron and black 
]iood* 



lierisons IXtpvtmntt'o. 



As originally acted, 1802. 

Julio ........ Miss De Camp. 

Darlemont .-.-.- Mr. Wroughton. 

St. Alme Mr. C. Kemble. 

Franval ....... Mr. Barryraore. 

De PEpee Mr. Kemble. 

Dupre ........ Mr. Bannister, Jun. 

Dominique -..-.- Mr. Suett. 

Pierre Mr. Palmer. 

Phiiippe .---.-- Mr. Trueman. 

Etienne ..--..- Mr, Chippendale. 

Charles ----... Mr. Maddocks. 

Madame Franval - . . . Miss Pope. 

Marianne ..-..-.- Mrs. Mountain. 

Claudine IVIrs, Sparks. 



1818. 
Drury-lane, 

Julio ...., Mrs, Hartley. 

Darlemont .•..,.•. • • . • . Mr. Bengough. 

St, Alme , • , . Mr. Stanley. 

Franval Mr. Barnard. 

De VEpee Mr. Holland. 

Dupre , . Mr. Powell. 

Dominique • • Mr. Oxberry. 

Pierre Mr Kent. 

Philippe ••••••.. Mr. Coveney. 

Etienne *• «.• Mr, Ebsworth. 

Charles Mr. Evans. 

Madame Franvat .•.••• Mrs. Sparks. 

Marianne Mrs. Robinson, 

Claudine Miss Tidswell, 

Servants. &c. 



DEAF AND DUMB; 

OR, THE 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace of Harancour. 
A whole length portrait of a Boy hangs in the 
centre of the Room. 

Enter Dupre and Pierre, r.h. 

Dup. Don't you be so inquisitive. 

Pie, Don't you be so surly. 

Dup. I won't be tormented. 

Pie. Come, come, Dupre — fellow-servants 
shouW be communicative, and tell one another 
every thing that passes in the family. 

Dup. And if they did — woe betide some fami- 
lies. 

Pie. Dupre — What is the meaning of all this 
mystery ? 

Dup. Why do you nail your eyes on me thus ? 



14 DEAF AND DUMB, 

I won't be worm'd and sifted. What is it you 
want to pick out of me ? 

Pie. 1 want to know the meaning of your 
private intei views with my master's father ; — 
admitted to his closet — doors lock'd — caution- 
ings — whisperings. — Take care, take care — ^I 
have my suspicions. 

Dup. Suspicions ! — Of what ? 

Pie. Of no good, I promise you. 

Dup. Why, what do you suspect ? 

Pie. To be plain with you, that you are aiding 
and abetting your old master, to make his son, 
my young master, miserable : in short, you are 
making a match for him with the First Presi- 
dent's daughter, against his will. 

Dup. Oh ! is that all you know ? 

Pie. All ! and isn't that enough ? 

Dup. Yes — no — I could almost wish the whole 
world knew — Ah ! (^Looking at the portrait.) 

Pie, Knew what ? — How you ^x your eyes 
on that — 

Dup. Do I ? 

Pie. Yes ; — You never pass through the 
room without pausing on that portrait. 

Dup. Not half an hour ago, I saw him start 
from his frame, and stand before me. 

Pie. What do you mean ? Are you crazy ? 

Dup. 1 believe, it was only a dream. — Per- 
haps he lives. (^Crosses to l.h.) 

Pie. Lives ! — W^hat lives ? — Why, look man, 
'tis but a picture. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 15 

Enter Darlemont, l.h. in a morning dress. 

Dar. How now ? — What are you doing ? 

Pie Only looking at this picture, sir. 

Dar. That picture ! — and why are you looking 
at it? 

Pie. By Dupre's account, it ought to be a 
miracle ; he says, he saw it start from its 
frame, and stand before him. 

Dar. Fellow? 

Pie. Why, didn't you say so, Dupre ? 

Dar. Begone ! [Exit Pierre^ lh.] Are you 
mad Dupre ? 

Dup. Almost, I am. 

Dar. How dare you hint at what must be 
eternally concealed ? 

Dup. Dare ? — The sinner dreads no tyrant, 
but his own conscience. 

Dar. Let that portrait be removed. 

Dup. No, that it never shall be. 

Dar. Ha! 

Dup. Frown on : there it shall remain, and 
daily haunt us. 

Dar. Again this insolence ? Remember, villain, 
that you are my slave. (^Crosses to r.h.) 

Dup. 1 do, and I remember too that you are 
mine : accomplices in guilt are of necessity the 
slaves of each other. 

Dar. 1 must contain myself {Jlside.) I see, 
I see Dupre, that neither my gifts, nor my 
promises, have satisfied you : — however, I have 
been thinking of you : — Leave me. — You will 
soon find that you are not forgotten. 



16 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Dup. I wish I were — but you and I can never 
be forgotten ; even in the grave we shall be 
remember'd, only to be curs'd, despised, and 
hated. [Exit Dupre^ l.h. 

Dar. Must I hold wealth, reputation, nay, 
life itself, perhaps, at the disposal of this 
dotard ! — His slave ! — While he spoke it, auda- 
cious as the reptile toad, he dar'd to fix his 
brazen eyes upon me. — Let him accuse. — Am I 
not Darlemont, possessor of the fortune and the 
power of Harancour ? — Where is the man who 
will venture to support his accusation ? 

{Crosses to l.h.) 

Re-enter Pierre, l.h. 

Besides, my son's marriage with the President's 
daughter, will, I hope — Why are you loitering 
there ? 

Pie. Sir, I am only waiting till my master 
comes in. 

Dar. What, is he abroad so early ? — Some- 
thing disturbs him. 

Pie. Yes, sir — indeed, something or other 
seems to disturb every soul in the house. 

(^Going.y 

Dar. What's that you say ? — Come hither, 
Pierre — you know the deference due to your 
master's father — be faithful, and you shall pro- 
fit by it. I must have no prying — mark me — 
no babbling — talk not of me, nor my afiairs. — 
As for Dupre — at times, you see, he raves — 
he has lost his senses — he grows old — 



DEAF AND DUMB. 17 

Pie. In your service, sir. 

Dar. And therefore what would be punished 
in another, 1 overlook in him. — Pay no regard 
to his wanderings — except, observe me, should 
you think them extraordinary, to inform me of 
them — me alone — no other — not even my son. 
(^Crosses to l.h.) I have my reasons ; which are 
not for you to inquire into. — Obey me, and 
depend on my bounty. [Exit Darlemont^ l.h. 

Pie, Your bounty ? — Humph ! — That may be 
well enough ; but the devil take your pride. 
A few years ago, this grand signior was but a 
petty merchant ; and now — 

Enter St. Alme, r.h. 

St. A. Was not that my father? 

Pie. Yes, sir — ^you seem as much rufHed as 
he was. 

St. A. My soul is on the rack — yet Vm 
resolv'd — this hated marriage never can, never 
shall, take place. — No, never, never will I 
renounce thee, my lovely Marianne ! — 

[Crosses to l.h.) 

Pie. Then, sir, you must renounce your 
father's favour and fortune. 

St. A. Unfeeling prejudice ! — Is she not the 
daughter of a man, whose memory is honourM 
and belov'd ? — The sister of a man of virtue 
and of talents — of Franval ? — the most renown- 
ed advocate of Toulouse ? 

Pie. True, sir — but his talents are the only 
dependence of her and her mother. 

3 



18 DEAF AND DUMB. 

St. A. While my father was but a merchant, 
he would have thought himself honoured by my 
marriage with the daughter of the Seneschal 
Franval ; but, since he has inherited the estates 
of his nephew atid ward, the unhappy Count of 
Harancour, his nature seems changed ; and he 
now listens only to the dictates of his ambition, 

(Crosses to r.h.) 

Pie. Ah ! the old servants of the family often 
talk of the young Count of Harancour ; — they 
say, he had the misfortune to be deaf and dumb, 

St. A. 'Tis true, he had. — Poor boy ! my 
father took him to Paris about eight years ago, 
in hopes that this affliction might be removed ; 
and, whether improper medicines were admi- 
nister'd to him, or that his constitution sunk 
under the efforts for his cure, I know not; — 
but there, in a short time, he died in the arms 
of Dupre, who accompanied my father on this 
journey. 

Pie. That's the secret — now I no longer 
wonder, that I so often catch Dupre gazing on 
that picture of the young count. 

St. A. Do you ? — 'Tis only natural in him ; — 
this youth was the last remaining branch of an 
illustrious family, which Dupre had long faith- 
fully served. — My poor Julio ! — He once saved 
my life — how bravely he expos'd himself for 
me ! — Never, never will his image quit my 
heart. — I see him at the moment of his departure 
— dumb as he was, his form spoke moving 
eloquence every look was so affectionate, every 
action so expressive. — Dear, dear, lamented 



DEAF AND DUMB. 19 

Julio ! He crush'd me into his very heart, as if 
he had foreknown, and would have told me, 
that that embrace was to be our last. — Ah ! 
were he now alive, I should enjoy his tender 
and endearing friendship, and my father, less 
opulent, would not then oppose my union with 
Marianne, 

Pie. But you say, sir, you have never yet 
told this lady that you love her — how then do 
you know what her thoughts of you may be ? 

St. A. I can't mistake 'em — our mutual tre- 
mors when we meet — my faultering voice, her 
downcast eyes— and other thousand, thousand 
delicious proofs of sympathising thoughts. — 

Pie You know best, sir ; but, for my part, I 
should wish for more substantial proofs — besides, 
her mother — 

St. A. Born of a noble family, is, if possible, 
more haughty than my father ; but her son has 
a complete empire over her affections : he is 
my friend ; he cannot but have discovered that 
I love his sister ; and, as our intimacy daily 
strengthens, I must presume that he approves 
my pretensions. {Crosses to l.h.) 

{Dominique without^ r.h.) 

Dom. I'll just deliver my message myself 

Pie. Hush ! — here comes their gossiping 
footman, old Dominique — Now, sir, if you wish 
to know the lady's real sentiments, only let me 
. set his tongue running, and he will tell you, 
j in his own chuckling talkative way, all that he 
sees, and hears. 



20 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Enter Dominique, r.h. 

Ha ! — Good morning, friend Dominique. What 
brings you to our house ? 

Dorn, Good day, good day, friend ! — So, sir ! 
(To St. Alrne.) youVe an early stirrer. — Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! ha ! — 1 saw you just now — 1 saw you — 
ha ! ha ! ha ! — 

St A. Saw me ? 

Dom. Yes, I did — pacing backwards and for- 
wards, under my young lady's window — Ha f 
ha ! ha ! 

St. A. I was only" taking the morning air, 
I do assure you, Dominique. 

Dom Hafha! ha! 

Pie. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What do you mean, 
Dominique ? 

Dom VVhy, that Pd take the morning air 
myself, old as I am, if I hoped to see a young, 
blooming, lovely — ha ! ha ! ha ! — But, no — fast 
as a church — she was up till two o'clock this 
morning practising the song, that somebody 
made on her recovery (^significantly.) — Ha ! ha f 
ha ! and at last went to bed, I dare say, only to 
dream of the author — Ha! ha! ha! 

St. A. Your frankness and good humour forbid 
dissimulation — yes, Dominique, I adore your 
charming mistress. 

Pie. Ay, that he does — the more's his misfor- 
tune. 

Do7n. Misfortune ! — and pray, sir, why so ? 

Pie. Because 1 can see very well — and so 



DEAF AND DUMB. 21 

do you too, Dominique — that your young lady 
doesn't care a straw for my master. 

Dom. You can see it, can you ? — Lord ! what 
a clear sighted wiseacre thou art ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

St. A. Why, Dommique, do you believe she 
loves me ? 

Dom. No, I don't believe it ; I know it. — 
Why, there was, in the first place — 

Si. A. Ay, Dominique — 

Pie. Let him go on, sir. — Well, but let's hear 
what proofs — 

Dora Proofs — a thousand — Why, when she 
was recovering from her last illness, and 1 told 
her how }ou had called to inquire after her — 
*' Did he come himself, Dominique?" says she 
— " and did he come often ?" — '^ Every minute 
in the day, ma'am," — says I. " And did he look 
concern'd ?" — ^^ Ma'am," says 1, " he looked 
charmmgly: his eyes were as red as a ferret's; 
his cheeks as white as a sheet ; he looked Hke 
a perfect ghost — a sweet lover-like figure, in- 
deed, ma'am." — '^ I think Im better," says she, 
" Dominique : I'm a great deal better — I'm sure 
I shall soon be wen." — Ha! ha! ha! — True 
love is your best doctor. 

Pie. O, Lord ! and is this all you know ? 

Dom. No, sir — it is not all I know ; nor half I 
know.^ — She gave me such a scolding about you 
t'other day. 

>S^. A. About me ? 

Dom. Yes. — She was painting away at her lit- 
tle desk, and took no notice of my coming in to 
put the room to rights ; so I crept softly on tipr- 

3* 



22 DEAF AND DUMB. 

toe tow'rds her; and, peeping over her shoulder 
— (I love to detect The sly rogues) — what should 
I behold but the picture of a young gentleman. 

St. A. What young gentleman ? 

Pie. Yes — what young gentleman? 

Doin What young gentleman ?— " How like 
it is," — says I, pop, at once, without thinking of 
it. — " Like," says she, starting up — '^ Like who? 
— Do you think it is like my brother ?" — " Your 
brother ! — Like a certain person, called captain 
St. Alme, to be sure" — " St. Alme ?" says she^ 
pouting and vex'd a little — '^ I desire Domir 
nique," — you know her way — ^« I desire you 
won't say any such thing — 1 beg and desire you 
won't." — And away she went, blushing as red as 
a rose, but all the while hiding somebody care- 
fully in her bosom — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — But, lord, I 
stand chattering here — 

St. A. Thank you, thank you, Dominique — 
you have made me happy beyond measure ! 

Dorn. \ knew I should. — Doesn't care a straw 
for my master !- — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 1 knew very 
well I should make you happy : 1 love to make 
people happy, and to be happy myself Bui I 
must not forget my errands. [Takes out a paper.) 
What with my old mistress, and my young 
mistress, and my master— [Going.) O, lord I he 
sent me here to tell you that he wants to speak 
with you. — Now don't you blab one word of all 
this for your life— these girls have such freaks 
and vagaries ! — Tho' they're in love over head 
and ears, and can't conceal it a moment; yet 
they expect other folks to be bhnd, and see 
nothing at all of the matter. {Going.) 



DEAF AND DUMB. 23 

St. A. Pray, say, Pll wait on your master, 
Dominique. 

Do7n. To be sure ! you'll wait on my master, 
because you expect to see my young mistress. 
Ha! ha! ha! — O, the turnings and twinings of 
your true lovers ! — Yes, yes — she hid the pic- 
ture in her fair bosom - 1 warrant as near as she 
could to her heart ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

[Exit Dominique^ r.ii. 

St. A, Now, Pierre, is there any cause for 
doubt? 

Pie, \ think not, sir. 

St A, And would my father tear me from her ? 
Never ! Run to the President's — inquire when 
I may have the honour of seeing him. i^Exit 
Pierre^ r.h.) Pll go to Franval's — avow to him 
my passion for his sister — and openly declare 
myself to her in her brother's presence. If I 
obtain their consents, I'll instantly wait on the 
President — acquaint him with my love for Mari- 
anne — make him refuse me his daughter — and 
thus, strike at once at the very root of my mis- 
fortunes. [Exit^ R.H. 

SCENE II. — A Square in the City of Toulouse. On 
one side the Palace of Harancour^ on the other 
the House of Franval^ Bridge^ Churchy 4^-0. 

Enter De L'Epee and Theodore, over the bridge. 

(^Theodore precedes De VEpee^ and advancing in 
great agitation^ expresses by signs that he recollects 
the spot they are in,) 



24 DEAF AND DtJMB. 

De VE. This warm emotion — this sudden 
change in all his features -convinces me that 
he recollects this place. — Hadst thou the use of 
speech ! 

{Theodore^ looking round him^ observes a ch^rch^ 
and gives signs more expressive of his knowing the 
place.) 

D VE. It is — it must be so — and am I then 
at length arrived at the period of my long and 
painful search ? — 

{Theodore now sees the Palace of Harancour^ he 
starts — rivets his eyes to it — advances a step or two 
— points to the statues — utters a shriek — and drops 
breathless into the arms of De VEpee.) 

De VE. Ah, my poor wronged boy — for such 
Fm sure you are — that sound goes to my very 
heart ! — He scarcely breathes. — I never saw him 
so much agitated. — There, there — Come, come 
— Why was a voice denied to sensibility so elo- 
quent ! 

{Theodore makes signs zmth the utmost rapidity^ 
that he was born in that Palace — that he li ed in 
it when a child — had seen the statues — come through 
the gate^ S^^c. ^c.) 

De VE. Yes — in that house was he born. — 
Words could not tell it more plamly. — The care 
of heaven still wakes upon the helpless. 
{Theodore makes signs of gratitude to De VEpee^ 
and fervently kisses his hands. — De V Epee ex-- 
plains thai it is not to him .^ but to Heaven^ that he 
ought to pay his thanks -Theodore instantly drops 
on his knee.^ and expresses a prayer for blessings on 
his benefactor.) 



DEAF AND DUMB. 25 

De PE. (^Bare-'headed-rrbows, and says.) O, 
thou, who guidest at thy will the thoughts of 
men — thou, by whom I was inspired to this great 
undertaking — O, power omnipotent ! — deign to 
accept the grateful adoration of thy servant, 
whom thou hast still protected, and of this 
speechless orphan to whom thou hast made me 
a second father ! — If I have uprightly discharged 
ray duty — if all my love and labours for him 
raay dare to ask a benediction — vouchsafe to 
shed its dews on this forlorn one, and let his 
good be all my great reward I — 

{De VEpee raises Theodore^ and embraces him ) 
We must proceed with caution : — and first, to 
learn who is the owner of this house. 
{Theodore is running to knock at the gate — De V 
Epee stops him^ 4^c. 

Enter Pierre, l.h. 

Pie, Well — that President is the best natured 
gentleman, — 

De VE, O, here comes one that may, per- 
haps, instruct me. {Sig)is to Theodore to attend.) 
Pray, sir, can you tell me the name of this 
square ? 

Pie. {Aside.) Strangers, I perceive — It is 
called St. George's square, sir.- — {Looking at 
Theodore,) 

DeVE. Thank you, sir. — Another word — Do 
you know this superb mansion ? 

Pie. {Observing De VEpee and Theodore more 



26 DEAF AND DUMB. 

closely,) Know it I — I think I ought; — I've lived 
here these five yi^ars. 

D PE. i hat's fortunate. And you call it — ► 

Pie, {Aside.) Plaguy inquisitive — A few years 
^go it was called the Palace of Harancour — 

De PE, Of Harancour? 

Pie. But at present it belongs to a gentleman 
of the name of Darlemont. {Observing Theo* 
dore.) ' ^ is odd -He seems to talk by signs: — Is 
he dumb ? — {During the above dialogue^ Theo* 
dore examines the gateway^ pillars.^ arms^ ^c, 
of the Palace of harancour ; and explains to De 
PEpee.^ hi'y recollection of the various objects^ <^c.) 

De PE And who is this gentleman of the 
name of Darlemont? {Theodore now turns 

his face fairly towards Pierre.) 

Pie. 'Gad, how hke it is!— sir?— Who is he ? 

De PE. Yes ; — 1 mean, what is his rank, his 
profession ? 

Pie [Still looking at Theodore.) ProfeSvSion I — 
He has no profession, sir; — He is one of the 
richest men in Toulouse -(Locking at Theodore.) 
— One might almost swear to it. — Your servant, 
sir; — Pm wanted. — (Aside.) Very odd, all these 
questions. — {Looking at Theodore,) — The strong- 
est likeness I ever saw in my life. 

\^Exit Pierre,^ into the Palace. 

De PE. Ay, my friend ; — you little know the 
motive of my questions. There's not a moment 
to be lost. — 1 his house that once belong'd to so 
distinguished a family — this Darlemont, the 
present possessor of it — every circumstance re^ 
lating to it — must be publicly known in Tou- 



DEAF AND DUMB. 27 

louse. I'll instantly away — seek out some lodg- 
ing, and then — But for fear it should escape me 
— (Writes in a note-book.) — Harancour — Darle- 
mont. (Theodore^ as De PEpee zvrites^ runs to 
him with eager curiosity — De VEpee presses him^ 
in his arms,) 

De VE. Yes, my poor mute Theodore, if 
you belong to parents who can feel, no doubt, 
they still lament your loss — and will with trans- 
port hail your return ; — If, as I fear, you are the 
victim of unnatural foul-play, grant me. Provi- 
dence, to unmask and confound it ! So men shall 
have another proof, that every fraud will soon 
or late be detected, and that no crime escapes 
eternal justice. [Exit^ De VEpee,, over the 
bridge^ leading Theodore^ who looks back at the 
Palace of Harancour^ ^c, 

END OF ACT I. *' 



ACT II. 

SCENE I — FranvaVs library. — Jl library table^ 

with books y parchments., ^c. Vase with Jlow- 

ers., ^"C. 

Franval, discovered reading, 

Fran, I shall never be happy, till I have ac- 



28 DEAF AND DUMB. 

complish'd this task.~To reconcile mistakea 
friends, is an employment as useful to society, 
as it is honourably to my profession. 

Enter Marianne, l.h. with a basket of Jiowers in 
her hand. 

Mar, Good morning, brother. 

Fran, {Rises.) Good morning, Marianne. 

Mar, Late and early — always at your studies. 

Fran, The causes which a lawyer is expect- 
ed to undertake, are frequently so disguised, 
either by the passions, or the arts of men, that, 
if he is honest, he can't consider them, too at- 
tentively. 

Mar. Ah ! your's must often be a painful em- 
ployment. 

Fran, 'Tis odious, indeed, to witness villany ; 
— but ihen, to justify the innocent, is the noblest 
and most gratifying duty of man. 

Mar. True ; it is sweeter to the soul, than 
these flowers to the sense. {She takes the Jiow- 
ers out of vases^ and puts those which she has 
brought into their places.) 

Fran. Every morning fresh odorous flowers, 
and a kind kiss from my dear sister, {He kisses 
her,) — my thoughts must be clear and pure — 
Ha, Marianne, delightful as these gifts are to 
me, I have a young friend, to whom they would 
be still more precious. 

Mar. What do you mean, brother ? 

Fran, Nay, — I would nt make you blush. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 29 

He leads her forward and looking steadfastly in 
her face says.) — ^ister ! 

Mar. ( With a downcast look.) Brother ! 

Fran, Your presents are sweet, — your affec- 
tion sweeter — yet both want of their true ^al- 
iie, while you deny me your confidence. 

Mar. Nay! 

Fran. Besides, Marianne, you may as well 
frankly own it ; for your heart is too innocent 
and simple, to wear disguise gracefully. 

Mar, Pray, forbear ! 

Fran, And why this hesitation — Do not the 
noble quahties of St. Alme make him worthy any 
woman's love ? 

Mar. I — I — believe they do. 
. Fran. I won't speak of his person, — 

Mar. Which is elegance itself 

Fran. I won't speak of his countenance, — 

Alar. Which is all comeliness and candour. 

Fran. But, for his heart, and understanding, — ■ ^ 

Mar. They are excellent and generous, in- 
deed ! 

Fran. What woman but must be happy with 
such a husband ? 

Mar. So I have often thought ! {Sighing) 

Fran. In a word, Marianne, he loves you. 

Mar. Why do you think so ? 

Fran. Every look declares it. 

Mar. Ah ! I'm afraid to trust to looks. 

Fran. Are you so ? At last, Marianne, you're 
caught — You own, then, that you love him in 
return ? 

Mar, Oh ! {Hides her face in his bosom.) 
4 



30 DEAF AND DUMB. 



Enter St. Alme, l.h. (hastily.) 

V 

Fran. My friend, you come at a lucky mo- 
ment. — You seem disturb'd — is any thing the 
matter ? 

St. A. Never stood I so much in need of your 
friendship. (Takes FranvaPs hand.) 

Mar. Heavens ! 

Fran. Explain yourself 

Mar. I'll leave you — (Going.) 

St. A. (Crosses to centre.) No — stay a mo- 
ment — I entreat you, stay — My father — Franval 
— my father ! 

Fran. What of him ? 

St. A, His dreadful menaces still sound in my 
ears — and wherefore were they utterM ? — Be- 
cause I cannot second his ambition — had he re- 
quir'd my blood, my life I would have given 
them willingly — but to renounce her I love, the 
tenderest and first affections of my soul ! 

Mar. Ah! 

St. A. Cruel parents ! — You cannot look with 
our eyes — You cannot feel with our hearts !— 
Are we your children, — only to become your 
victims? 

Fran. Be calm, and tell me what has passM. 

St. A. My father has this morning informed 
me, that the marriage I have so much dreaded, 
must take place within these three days-^' Three 
days ! ' — I exclaim'H, — •' No, sir ; never, never." 
— > his reply, which burst from the very bottom 
of my wounded heart, rouz'd his displeasure into 



DEAF AND DUMB. 31 

a rage too violent for all my excuses or prayers 
to pacify — he insisted on my instantly giving him 
a reason for my peremptory refusal — Hoping 
the name of her I adore might disarm his fury, 
— I at once declared, that my affections were 
irrevocably devoted to — 

Fra7i. To whom ? Speak out. 

St. j3. To your sister. 

Mar. Me ! 

St. A. (Throwing himself at her feet,) — For- 
give my rashness ! Yes, to you — 'tis you alone I 
love, and ever, ever shall; — and, might 1 hope— 

Mar. (Much agitated and raising him.) — What 
said your father ? 

St. A Embarrass'd at first, and overpowered 

with confusion, he acknowledged your worth and 

beauty ; but added, that he had disposed of me 

t elsewhere, and enjoined me to forget you, — 

• '^ Sooner forget to live.'' — At this, his wrath re- 

doubled : he reprobated my audacious disobe- 

i dience, -threatened me with his malediction, — 

[and forbad me ever again to enter his presence, 

but with repentance and submission. 

Mar. A las I 

St A. My whole frame shudder'd while he 
(gpoke ; — yet I felt my heart revolt against this 
tyranny. — Banish'd the bosom of a father, I come 
to find a refuge in the arms of a friend. 

Fran (Embracing him.) Of a friend, my dear 
(St. Alme, whose first advice to you is, to calm 
ilhis over eager sensibility ; and to remember, 
jthat a parent is to be respected, even under his 
Itnistakes. 



32 DEAF AND DUMB. 

St. A, Ah ! were the heart of Marianne but 
mine, — v 

Fran, Of that you are secure. 

Mar. O, brother ! 

St. A. Am I so bless'd ? — Am I indeed ? 

Fran. And why dissemble what will alleviate 
his sufferings ? {To Marianne.) 

Mar. And why reveal what may increase our 
misery ? 

St. A. O, no ; since I am that bless'd ; obsti- 
nate and stern as my father is, I shall subdue, 
I shall soften his inflexibility ; and he will here- 
after rejoice in the happiness of his children. — 
But 1 forget — I must away. {Crosses to l.h.) 

Fran. Whither are you hurrying ? 

St. A. To the President's ; — I cannot now tell 
you more. We shall have every thing to hope, 
if I can prevail on him to countenance my pro- 
ject. — 1 shall, I will ! — Secure of thy heart, 
my lovely Marianne, what can I not perform ? 

[Exit^ L.ii. 

Fran. St. Alme ! — my friend ! — Hear me one 
moment. 

Mar. I tremble, lest his ardent temper should 
precipate him into — 

Enter Dominique, r.h. with books under his arin. 

Dom. Sir, your mother desires to know 
whether you choose to have breakfast in your 
study. 

Fran. By all means, — as she pleases. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 33 

Alar. You have not been to pay her your 
respects this morning. 

(^Dominique lays f'le books on FranvaVs desk^ and 
places a breakfast-table^ chairs^ (S^c.) 

Fran. Come, let us wait on her — Cheer up, 
Marianne ; all will go well yet. 

JV/ar. You are very good, brother. — But, you 
shouldn't have told. 

[Exennt Franval and Marianne^ r.h. 

Dom, I'm tired to death already. — I verily 
believe, I have walked five miles this morning. 
Let me see that I have done all my errands 
though, or Madame Franval will be telling me 
1 begin to grow old, and good for nothing. — 
{Looks over a paper.) — '' Cards of invitation to 
the Prior, and the Countess of — " — Both deli- 
vered — " Books from the library.'" — There they 
are — '•^ Go to the lawyer, and desire him to stop 
proceedings against the poor officer, the rtioney 
being ready to discharge the debt." — Paid by 
my good master to save an unfortunate family 
from prison — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — O, stop ! — Ah — 
" And as I return, to leave six crowns with" — 
sent by my young mistress, Marianne, to the 
widow of the late porter of the Palace of Haran- 
cour — That's because she's a favourite of Cap- 
tain St. Alme's. — How the poor soul did bless 
and pray for her lovely benefactress ! — Ha ! 
jha ! ha ! I am tired ; but it's a pleasure to go on 
such errands — ^Ha ! ha ! ha ! They're coming. 

[Exit^ L.H. 



34 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Enter Madame Franval, r.h. leaning on Franval's 
arm— ^Marianne following. 

[Exit Dominique^ l.h. who returns immediately 
with the breakfast^ which he places on the table 
and Exit.) l.h.] 

Mad, F, Yes, my son, there are few families 
in Toulouse, more ancient than ours ; and, the' 
but an advocate, 1 trust that you will shew 
yourself worthy of the name of Franval. 

Fran. My employment, madam, is an honour 
to all who exercise it properly. {They sit — 
Marianne prepares the Breakfast.) 

Mad. F. The office of Seneschal had been, I 
may say, for ages held by your ancestors — at 
the death of your father, I was obliged to sell it, 
and the degradation cuts me to the soul. 

Fran. Yet, madam, this very circumstance 
has stimulated me to attain by my own talents 
that consideration in the world, for which I 
should otherwise, in all probabiHty, have stood 
indebted merely to accident and prejudice. 

Enter Dominique, l.h. 

jDom. A letter for you, madam. {Gives Madam 
Franval a letter.) The servant waits for an 
answer. 

Mad. F. Have you been on those messages ! 

Dom. Yes, madam. 

Mad. F. {Reading.) " Darlemont .'" What oc- 
casion can Darlemont have to write to me ? 



DEAF AND DUMB. 35 

Fran. ( With surprise^ and looking at Marianne.^ 
Darlemont ! 

Mad, F. (^Reads.) " Madam^ I take the freedom 
of addressing myself to you^ in claim of the most sa- 
cred rights^ — [To Dominique.) You may leave 
us. [Exit Dominique^ l.h. 

(Reads,) " Sacred rights of a father. ^'^ What does 
he mean? [Reads.) '• Rights of a father— my son 
loves your daughter.'^'' Indeed ! (Reads.) " I met 
him this moment., and he assures me that his love is 
returned.'''^ (They all rise, Alarianne starts. Ma- 
dame Franval casis a severe look at her.) 

Fran, (Diverting her attention from Marianne.) 
Go on, madam ; I beseech you, go on. 

Mad. F. (Reads.) " Be assured their union never 
can take place.^"^ Ha ! ha ! ha ! — No, sir; be as- 
sured their union never can take place. 

Mar, What will become of me! 

Mad. F. (Reads.) " I therefore trusty you will 
forbid him your house ; and no longer encourage 
him to contemn and brave the authority of a father. 
Darlemont.'''^ Encourage ! I encourage ! Insup- 
portable insolence ! (Crosses to r.h.) 

Fran. Be calm, I beg you, madam. 

Mad F. Who told this petty trader, this gen- 
tleman of yesterday, that I should dream of an 
alliance v^^ith his mushroom family ? — What, have 
his riches made him forget the disparity of our 
births ?— 'Daughter, I cannot believe this of you. 
I hope, son Franval, after such an insult, you will 
no longer honour this St. Alme with your no- 
tice. Hs for the father, should he ever — Yes. 
^e shall have an answer. (Sits down to ix,'rite.) 



36 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Enter Dominique, l.h. 

Dom. Sir, a stranger desires to speak^ with 
you. 

Fran, A stranger ? 

Dom, Yes, sir ; a very good looking gentle- 
man desires to see you — I believe he's a clergy- 
man. 

Fran. Desire him to walk in. [Exit Dom. l.h. 

Mad, F. (^Reading the letter with vexation.) 
'' Their union never can take placed Ha ! ha ! 
ha! 

Mar. My dreams of happiness are ended. 

Fran. Madam, the gentleman comes : if you 
please, we'll consider the letter another time. 

Mad. F. {Rising.) No— I won't honour him 
with an answer at all. 

Enter the Abbe De L'Epee, introduced by 
Dominique, l.h. 

JDom. Walk in, sir ; pray walk in. 

[Exit Dominique^ l.h, 

De PE, [Salutes the Ladies ; then FranvaL) I 
presume, sir, you are Monsieur Franval? 

Fran. At your service. 

De Z'E. Could you favour me with a few mo- 
ments conversation ? 

Fran. Very willingly. May I take the liberty 
of asking, who — 

De IE. — I am from Paris, — My name is De 
FEpee. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 37 

Fran. De PEpee ! — The instructor of the 
Deaf and Dumb? 

De VE, {Bows.) 

Fran. Madam, — sister, — you see before you 
one who is an honour to human nature. 

De VE. Sir, [Bows) — [The Ladies salute Dq- 
VEpee with great respect.) 

Fran. How often have I admired you as the 
dispenser of the most valuable gifts of heaven ! 

De VE. Then have 1 been fortunate indeed, 
in applying myself to you. 

Fran, How can 1 serve you ? 

De PE, By aiding me to redress the injur'd. — 
Your high reputation, sir, has brought me hither, 
in order to communicate to you an affair of the 
utmost importance. 

Mad, F, Daughter, we'll retire. (Going.) 

DeVE. If you have time to listen, ladies, pray 
stay. — It is my earnest wish to interest every 
virtuous and feeling heart in the cause I have 
undertaken. 

Mad, F, If we have your leave, sir, — 

Fran. Be seated, pray, sir, C^'hey sit.) 

De VE, Perhaps you will think my storj^ te- 
dious: yet I must be particular. 

Mar, How interesting an appearance ! 

Fran. Pray, proceed. 

De VE. [Bowing to the Ladies,) This, then, is 
my business. About eight years ago, a boy, 
deaf and dumb, found in the dead of night on 
the Pont Neuf, was brought to me by an officer 
of the Police. From the meanness of his dress, I 



38 DEAF AND DUMB. 

supposed him of poor parents, and undertook to 
educate and provide for him. 

Fran, As 1 know you have done for many 
others. 

De VE^ I soon remarked an uncommon intel- 
ligence in his eyes J a well-manner'd ease and 
assurance in his behaviour; and, above all, a 
strange and sorrowful surprise in his looks, 
whenever he examined the coarseness of his 
cloathing. — In a word, the more I saw, the more 
1 was convinced, that he had been purposely 
lost in the streets, I gave a public, full, minute 
description of the unhappy foundling ; but in 
vain. F^w will claim interest in the unfortu- 
nate. 

Fran. Ah! few indeed! 

De IE. Plac'd among my scholars, he profited 
so well by my lessons, that he was, at last, able 
to converse with me by signs, rapid almost as 
thought itself. One day, as we were passing the 
High Court of Justice, a Judge alighted from his 
carriage. — The sight gave Theodore — for so I 
call'd him— an emotion, violent and instant. — 
The tears ran down his cheeks in torrents, while 
he explained to me, that, \^hen a child, a man, 
who often wore similar robes of purple and er- 
mine, had been accustomed to caress, and take 
him in his arms. Observe— another time, a 
grand funeral passed us in the streets ; — ( watch'd 
the various changes in his colour, and learn'd 
that he had himself, long ago, followed the coffin 
of the very person, by whom he had been thus 
fondly caress'd. — I could not be mistaken. — J 



DEAF AND DUMB. 39 

tbncluded, that he was probably the orphan 
heir of some chief magistrate, purposely turned 
adrift in a strange and populous city — defraud- 
ed, robb'd, and even fortunate to have escap'd 
with life. 

Mar. Poor youth ! 

De VE, These strong presumptions redoubled 
all my hope and zeal. — Theodore grevsr every 
day more and more interesting. He confirmed 
to me many circumstances of his story. — Yet, 
how proceed in his behalf? He had never heard 
his father's name, he neither knew his family, 
nor the place of his birth. Well, sir, — some 
months ago, as we went through the Barriere 
d'Enfer, observing a carriage stopp'd and exam- 
ined, the recollection suddenly struck him, that 
this was the very gate through which he enter- 
ed Paris, and that the chaise, in which he travel- 
led with two persons, whom he well remember- 
ed, had, in this very spot, been thus visited. I 
see, — ^I see it in your eyes, — you anticipate 
my firm persuasion, that he came from some 
city in the south of France, of which, in all 
likelihood, his father had been the chief magis- 
trate. 

Fran. For heaven's sake, sir, go on. 

De PE. Finding all my researches ineffectual, 
I resolved at last to take my pupil with me, and 
traverse, in person, and on foot, the whole of 
the south of France. We embraced each other, 
invoked the protection of heaven, and set for- 
ward. After a journey — long — fatiguing — al- 
most hopeless — we this morning-- bless d be the 



40 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Divine Providence ! arrived at the gates of Tou- 
louse. 

Fran. Good H»avens ! 

De VE. He knew the place, he seiz'd my 
hand, utter'd wild cries of joy, and led me quick- 
ly, here and there, thro^ various quarters of the 
city. At length we arrived at this square — he 
stopped — pointed to the mansion opposite your 
door — shrieked, and senseless dropp'd into my 
arms. 

Fran, The Palace of Harancour! 

De VE. Yes, — and from the inquiries I have 
already made, I am convinced that my poor boy 
is the lawful heir of that family ; and that his 
inheritance has been seized by his guardian and 
maternal uncle. — Darlemont. 

Mad. F. 1 don't doubt it,— O, the wretch. 

(^She rises.) 

De VE. To you, sir, I have been directed — 
to your talents, — to your virtue. — And to you, in 
the names of justice and humanity, I now address 
myself for aid. — Earth, heaven, and all the bles- 
sings it can promise, will second my petition. 
O, let the voice of irresistible truth be rais'd in 
his behalf!- Let not a noble orphan, denied the 
precious bounties of nature, and quickened by 
these privations into ten-fold sensibility — let him 
not, I conjure you,~let him not fall the victim 
of the ambitious and the base. 

Fran. Sir, could i have listened to a tale like 
this unmoved, 1 were unworthy the form and 
na°Tie of man. (7'o Mad. F.) If ever I were 
truly proud of my profession, Madam, it is at this 



DEAF AND DUMB. 41 

moment, when 1 am calPd upon to assault the 
powerful, and defend the helpless. {To De PE) 
Sir, the faculties of life, body, and soul, while I 
possess them, shall be employed to serve him. 

Mad. F, Thank heaven, I shall see him re- 
duced to his original insignificance at last. 

Mar. Ah ! Poor St. Alme ! — Brother, — 

Fran I don't forget St. Alme. — Sir, I must 
now acquaint you, that this Darlemont is the 
father of my dearest friend. — Delicacy, duty, re- 
quire me to try persuasion, gentleness, and every 
milder method — should these fail with him, I 
shall be driven to expose his guilt, and publicly 
compel him to restore the rights, which I have 
cause to fear, he has so unnaturally usurped. 
Where is your pupil ? 

De VE. I left him at our lodgings ; and his 
anxiety, no doubt, makes my absence seem long. 

Fran, Dear sir, why didn't you bring him 
with you ? 

Mar. How impatient I am to see him ! 

Fran. Let me beg that you will use us like 
old friends, and accept apartments here. 

Be VE. 1 am afraid, — 

Mad. F. Not, I hope to do us pleasure and an 
honour ? 

De VE. It is impossible to resist such good^ 
ness. — Madam, I obey. {De VE. and Fran talk 
together.) 

Mad. F. Come, Marianne, we'll go and pre- 
pare for our young guest, — Yes. yes^ you shall 
have an answer ; my son shall be your corres- 
pondent. — Come, Marianne. [^Exit^ r.h. 
5 



42 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Mar. Brother, remember your friend. — Yoor 
servant, sir. (^'o De VE.) [Exit r.h. 

Fran. Yes, sir; we shall have great difficulties 
to encounter in our way : the wealth and influ- 
ence of Darlemont are formidable : his temper, 
daring, haughty, and obstinate. Yet, in the First 
President, we have so upright and wise a judge 
to hear us, that, if truth and justice are on our 
side, our triumph is certain. 

De VE. 1 rely entirely on you, Let the result 
ef our inquiry be what it may, — to have done 
my duty, will be my consolation, — and to have 
known you^ sir, my recompence. [Exeunt^ l.h. 



END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE II. — The same Room in the Palace of 
Harancour. 

Enter Darlemont, followed by Philip and 
Etienne, to whom he gives his hat and cane^ and 
they retire^ 

Dar. My life is one continued scene of terror 
and disappointment. This undutiful, this head- 
strong boy ! To refuse the match I had provided 
for him ! Thus to thwart my long labour'd plan 



DEAF AND DUMB. 43 

for our security ! — But let the rebel dreud the 
consequence of his disobedience. 

Enter Pierre, l.h. 

Now, sir, where is your master ? 

Pie. I don't know, sir : — but, indeed, I am 
very much afraid — 

Dar. Afraid!— Of what?— Speak. 

Pie. That he'll soon lose his senses, poor 
gentleman ! 

Dar. Blockhead ! — 

Pie. He had such a wild look, when you turn'd 
away from him in the street just now, — Do, 
good sir — pardon my boldness — do take this 
wedding into a little consideration. 

Dar, Silence ! — Who were they you were 
chattering with so busily in the square, about an 
hour ago ? 

Pie. In the square ? — O ! — they were stran- 
gers. 

Par. How came they to examine, and point at 
this house so often ? 

Pie. I don't know, sir — but one of 'em ask'd 
me whose that fine house was, and I said it had 
been the Palace of Harancour. — 

Dar. Yon said ? 

Pie. Yes, sir — but that now it belong'd to — 

Dar. Babbling dunce. {Crosses to l.h.) 

Pie. I beg your pardon, sir ; if I had been a 
babbler, I should have staid with them ; but, no; 
I got away as fast as 1 could, that they might ask 
me no questions about you, sir. 



44 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Da7\ About me ! — And why should you fear 
any questions b^ing askM about me ? 

Pie. I'm sure, I don't know, sir. 

Dar. Don't know ! — Tell me this moment, 
who put that thought into your head ? 

Pie. Upon my life sir, you frighten me out of 
my wits ! — Why, sir, it was — 

Dar. Who, was it ? — 

Pie. It was you yourself, sir — you ordered me 
not to talk of you, nor your affairs, to any body. 

Dar, Well — And, pray, what pass'd between 
'em? 

Pie. They kept that to themselves. — They 
seemed to me -to talk by signs. 

Dar. By signs! Why talk by signs? 

Pie. I can't tell, sir ; — only I guess that the 
young gentleman was dumb. 

Dar. Dumb? 

Pie. He surely was — at least I thought so. 

Dar. Dumb — 'tis false. 

Pie. No, indeed — you'll find it true, 1 believe, 
sir. # 

Dar. Impossible — Was it the youth, do you 
say, that was dumb. 

Pie. Yes, sir, the boy, and I was the more 
sorry for him some how, because he is so very 
like— 

Dar. Like whom ? 

Pie. So very like that picture of the young 
count. And so — 

Dar. And so ! — And what so ? — Officious fopl 
— isn't the boy dead ? 

Pie. So 1 have heard, sir. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 45 

Dar. Heard, reptile — Do you dare to doubt 
sir ? 

Pie. I sir ? No. — Only this morning Dupre 
said that, perhaps, he was ahve. 

Dar. When did he say so ? 

Pie. While we were looking at the picture. 

Dar, {To himself.) Flames devour the picture ! 
{Aside.) Let that picture be removed mto my 
apartment. 

Pie. Yes, sir — So I thought, if it should hap- 
pen to be him, it might turn out to be a lucky 
discovery — my master thinks i — 

Dar. Go ! Send them to remove that picture. 

Pie. Yes, sir — It's very odd, all this. 

[Exit Pierre^ l.h. 

Dar. Here I am countermin'd again. — That 
picture I had painted at the moment of our de- 
parture, in order to impress an opinion of my 
affiection for this boy, and so prevent suspicion. 
My very precautions work towards my detection 
— Like the picture ! — Dumb ! — No, no ; it can't 
be» — And yet — 

Enter Dupre, l.h. abruptly^ having a paper in 
his hand. 

Now, sir — Who sent for you ? What want you 
here ? 

Dup. I come to unburthen a loaded con- 
science. 

Dur» Pm busy — and can't be troubled. 

Dup. I come to — {Holding out a letter.) 

Dar, Did you hear me — I'm busy. 
5* 



46 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Dup, Sir, sir, you waste your anger on me : 
you have laid a* crime on my soul, that annihi- 
lates the duties and distance of my calling : 1 
cast off the servant, and assume the man. 

Dar, What is it you mean by this insolence ? 

Dup, First, sir, please to take back the annui- 
ty you have sent me. 

Dar, {Snatching the paper.) Take back — Is it 
not yet sufficient? 1 thought it beyond your 
hopes. Your conscience knows its price. 

Dupf No, sir — ^you wrong me — 'twas when I 
had no conscience, that I had a price. 

Dar. LiarJ You come to practice on me.-^ 
You, tattler! — Gossip of sworn secrets! Perjur- 
er — Go— point, and pretend to start at pictures 
—pernicious dotard ! Conscience ? 'Tis false — 
No ; 'tis to wring my purse, you act remorse, 
and feign this pity for a thing — who, say the 
best, was but an idiot, an automaton 

{Crosses to l.h.) 

Dup, Of me, sir, think what you will ; 1 have 
deserved it — but in behalf of that injur'd youth, 
1 must retort the falsehood. 

Dar. You ! 

Dup, I.—- Though speech and hearing were 
denied him, yet nature recompens'd him with a 
mind that gljow'd with intelligence, and a heart 
that ran over with benevolence. And you, sir — 
is your heart so deadened by the injuries you've 
done him, that you forget it was this ideot saved 
the life of that most excellent young man, your 
only son— did not Julio — regardless of danger 
fo himself, and thoughtful only for St. Alme-^ 



DEAF AND DUMB. 4? 

when the fierce wolf had fastened on his throat, 
did he not bravely rend asunder his bloodj jaws, 
receiving in his own arm a wound, so deep and 
dangerous, that the scar could never be effaced ? 

Dar. Silence, I charge you ! 

Dup When I call to mind his infancy — his 
pretty looks — his fond kisses, when 1 have borne 
him in my arms — and think how 1 yielded — 
weak and wicked as I was ! — to your tempta- 
tions, and abandon'd him to perish — poor help- 
less babe ! — in a wide unpitying world — 1 could 
call for curses on my head, proclaim my guilt, 
and take delight in the abhorrence and punish- 
ment, which men enraged, and the just laws, 
would pursue me to destruction ! 

Dar. Hence, raving visionary ! — The serpent 
that stung the friend that foster'd him, paid with 
his life the forfeit of his ingratitude. — 

{^Puts his hand on his sword.J 
Coward, beware I — Shall my honour stand in 
danger from your treachery ? (^Crosses to r.h.) 

Dup, Treachery has never enter'd my mind. 
Julio is gone — and the crime cannot be repair- 
ed — yet, the sincere repentance of a servant, 
might claim respect from that master, who after 
a blameless life of forty years, had seduc'd him 
to viUiany. 

Dar. VLlliany ! 

Diip, My part was impious villiany — what 
your's was — ask of the vexing thoughts, that 
nightly take watch on the pillow of the wicked. 

Dar, Urge me no further. — Lectured by my 
slave !*— a worm that crawls at the mercy of my 



48 DEAF AND DUMB. 

foot! — Because I have forborne presum'st thou 
that I dare not? strike ? — Hence ! — Here, take 
thy recompense — {Offering him the paper.) — 
Be thankful, and obedient — Guard thy lips, or — 

Dup. No ! — Vile as you think me, my silence 
is not to be bought — my sins shall not be pen- 
sioned. — Hitherto you are safe. Don't let your 
insult drive me to disclose you. 

Dar. Here, here — and have done — 

{Offering him the paper.) 

Dup. You are deceived — I was brib'd, not by 
your gold, but by the wild vanity of sharing your 
confidence— ^your familiarity — and becoming — 
instead of him you call your slave — ^your friend. 

Dar. Such you might have been. 

Dup. No — there can be no friendship in guilt 
— 'tis my doom to live in dread of you, and of 
my own reflections — 'tis yours, to know, that 
your honour and life are in the keeping of a 
man stung in conscience, distracted in mind, and 
by yourself render'd a wretch, infamous, and 
never more to be trusted. \^Exit^ l.it. 

Dar. Indeed! — Do you grow so fast on us? 
Prevention or treachery — His life or mine — and 
shall I hesitate ? A single blow will give me 
peace. Whither am I going ? Peace ! No, no, 
^tis false ; peace dwells only with innocence ; 
yet to be led — exposed — a pubHc malefactor — 
help, heav'n — shield me from the phrenzy 0^ 
these thoughts ! [Exit^ r.h. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 49 

SCENE TIL — FranvaVs Study ^ as before. 

Enter Marianne, r.h. 

Mar, Where can Dominique loiter all this 
while ? When I told him too, how anxiously I 
should wait for his return ! My dear father valu- 
ed his honest simplicity of heart — and he has 
liv'd among us so long", and so familiarly in- 
dulged, that he treats me with as little ceremo- 
ny, as if he were guiding me in my leading 
strings again — Ah ! poor fellow !— -here he 
comes, quite out of breath ! I beg his pardon — 

Enter Dominique, l.h. 

Well — my good, dear, Dominique — have you 
seen St Alme ? 

Dom. I was coming to tell you, ma'am — No, 
ma'am, he has not been at home since 

Alar, Unlucky ! — Never did I wish so earnest- 
ly to see him. 

Dom. Lord, lord, what a pity ! Where is he ? 
Where can he be ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! — If he did but 
know how you are fretting about him, he'd fly 
on the wings of lo — 

Mar. [Interrupting him.) I had forgot — Did 
you go to the poor widow? 

Dom. Yes, true, ma'am ; and gave *her your 
present. Ha ! ha ! — poor Claudine ! — She kiss'd 
the crowns because they had touch''d your hand 
— and blest your sweet name a thousand and a 
thousand times. 



50 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Mar. Surely, you didn't tell her that it came 
from me ? 

Dom. Lord7 ma'am, I couldn't help it. — To be 
sure, nobody, though I say it myself, can keep a 
secret better than I can : but then — Ha ! ha ! 
poor soul ! — she begg'd, and pray'd, and laugh'd, 
and cried — ^Ha ! ha ! I reckon she'll be here in 
a minute to thank you. 

Mar. I can't see her, Dominique — I'm too 
much disturb'd — I'm not — It was very wrong, 
indeed. 

Dom. Well, then, she shan't come. And yet 
why should you be so asham'd of going good ? 
I'm sure, virtue should have somebody to show 
it a little countenance now-a-days. Ah, poor 
Claudine ! — Times are sadly chang'd with her 
since her good man, Blaise, was porter at the 
palace of Harancour — She wanted for nothing 
then — Ah ! when Count Julio died, his uncle, 
Darlemont, turn'd away all the old servants ; 
and, but for the charity of his son, 1 believe, 
some of them might have starved, poor things ! 
He has been very good to Claudine too, and 
would have done more, but for fear of his fa- 
ther. 

Mar. Yes ; the father is unlike the son. 

Dom. Unlike ? The one is as proud as the — 
and the other as mild as a May-morning. O, 
he'd make an admirable master for one, he 
would — an excellent head of a family — and, 
above all, a most charming spouse — Don't you 
think so, ma'am ? 

Mar. Yes — I believe the woman of his 
choice, — 



DEAF AND DUMB. 51 

D6m. That's done. His choice is made. 

Mar, I've heard he's to be married to the 
great heiress, the President's daughter. 

Dom. So have I. 

Mar. Have you ? 

Doin, Yes — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — But he won't have 
her. 

Mar. Dominique ! 

Dom, Lord, ma'am — ^you know very well, he 
loves somebody else. 

Mar, (Much agitated,) Are the apartments 
ready for our two guests ? 

Dom. lean do that in a minute, ma'am. — Yes^ 
yes, he — 

Mar. Go, go — make haste ; they are expect- 
ed instantly — Go. 

Dom. Weil, well — I'm gone. (Aside,) No, 
never can make her own it. Ah 1 you cunning 
little hypocrite ! Ha ! ha ! — A girl in love is for 
all the world like the moon in a cloudy night ; 
now out, now in — This moment clear as the 
day ; and the next you're all in the dark again. 

[Exit^ L.H. 

Mar. One would think that this old man took 
a pleasure in tormentmg me. If this scholar of 
De I'Epee's should prove to be Count Julio, and 
recover the possessions he has been depriv'd of, 
St. Alme would then be only the equal of my 
fortune, and his father no longer, perhaps, see 
any distance between us — Ah, flattering Hope, 
vou are too forward. 



»2 DEAF AND DUMB. 

SONG. 

> 

WRITTEN BY M. G. LEWIS, ESQ. 

What iho^ Fate forbids me offer 
Golden gifts from Fortune'' s store ; 

All I have to Love I proffer^ 
Fortune cannot offer more, 

What^ tho'^ bright the jeweWd treasure^ 

Which Peruvian mines supply ; 
Brighter still the tear of pleasure^ 
^Sparkling in Affection'^s eye. 

Hymen^ in his power for ever^ 

Firm the God of Hearts would hold ; 

Binding oft — aA, vain endeavour ! 
Love with Interest'' s chains of gold. 

Soon their weight his strength overpowers : 

Soon they crush the petty elf; 
Love can bear no chains but flowers^ 

Light and blooming like himself 

Mar. Ah, me ! Why is St. Alme out of the 
way? He must be prepared for this discovery 
— and yet, my mother ! Should Darlemont be 
softened, will she consent ? 

Enter Madame Franval and Franval, r.h. 

Mad. F. Don't tell me, son — don't tell me. 
This is my opinion — to hesitate to deUver up 






DEAF AND DUMB. 53 

this usurper to the vengeance of the laws — to 
wink at such enormities — is to become an ac- 
complice in 'em. 

Fran. You will allow us first to prove them 
on him, madam ! besides, can I forget, that he is 
the father of my friend ? (^Madame Franval turns 
azvay in great displeasure.) Has Dominique been 
to St. Alme ? {To Marianrie.) 

Mar. Yes — But he hadn't been at home. 

Mad. F. {Comes down between them.) And to 
tell you my opinion further, son — after this let- 
ter, t very much disapprove of that young man's 
visits here. 

Fran. Ought we to make him responsible for 
his father's faults ? 

Mar, Which he is so far from sharing, that he 
will devote his life to atone 'em. {^Madame 
Franval gives her a look of disapprobation.) One 
need only look in his face, to be sure of it. 

Mad. F. Oh ! Had the Seneschal been living 
now ! 

Fran. If only Darlemont were concerned, 
madam, I should, without regret, tear away his 
specious visor and expose him bare-faced — such, 
however, are the prejudices of the world, that 
I cannot publish the guilt of the parent, without 
reflecting the disgrace of his actions on his 
blameless son. 

Mad. F. What, then, he is to escape after all ? 

{Crosses to l.h.) 

Fran. Here's somebody coming. My dear 

madam — {Crosses to l.h.) 

Mar. Good mother — {Crosses ^o l.h.) 

6 



54 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Mad. F. Nay, nay, — (^Crosses to r.h,) 

Enter De L'Epee, l.h. introducing Theodore. 

De VE» In obedience to your kind commands, 
1 present to you my adopted child, my Theo- 
dore. This, sir, is the orphan, whose stor}^ you 
have heard, and whose wrongs you will redress. 
(Theodore^ having saluted them with great vivaci- 
ty fixes his eyes on Franval.) 

Mar. How intelligent, and animated a look ! 

Mad. f. The perfect image of his late father ! 

De PE. [Earnestly.) Do you say so, madam ? 

Mad. F. I see his iather in him, at his age, 
as if he stood before me. 

[Theodore [to whom De P Epee is attentive^) points 
to Franval — lays the forefinger of his right hand 
on his forehead^ and assumes an expression of ge- 
nius ; then darts his arm forward with for ce^ gran- 
deur .^ 4'C.) 

De VE. Ay ! he tells nie, that he reads in 
your countenance the certainty of triumphing, 
and confounding his oppressor. 

Fran. Yes ; I have given him my promise, 
and will perform it. 

[Theodore having touched his lips with a look of 
regret^ seizes the hand of Franval — holds it to his 
heart ; and^ with his other hand^ beats quickly and 
often on the bosom of Franval.) 

De VE. Ah I that he could speak his grati- 
tude ! But, by the throbbings of his heart, he 
bids you learn, that your goodness to him will 
live there for ever. These are his true ex- 
pressions. 



DEAF AND DUxMB. 55 

Fran, Are you then so perfectly comprehen- 
sible to each other ? 

Mad. F, Are your signs so minutely accurate ? 

De IE. As speech itself. 

Mar. And does he understand every thingyou 
desire to express ? 

De VE. You shall have proof of it this mo- 
ment. 

(De VEpee taps Theodore on the shoulder^ to 
make him observe.^ rubs his forehead^ then points to 
Marianne^ and writes a line or two with his finger 
on the palm of his left hand. Theodore nods to 
De VEpee — runs to FranvaPs table — sits down^ 
snatches up a pen^ and shews that he is ready to 
write.) 

De I E, Now, madam, make what inquiry you 
please of him, he will copy it down from my ac- 
tion, and immediately give you his reply. — He 
waits for you. 

Mar. [With timidity.) 1 really don't know 
what to — 

Fran. Any thing, — any thing. 

Mad. F. Ay, ay, child ; the first thing that 
comes into your head. 

Mar. {After a momenfs reflection,) In your 
opinion, — 

De V E. Speak slowly, and repeat the ques- 
tion, as if you were dictating to him yourself. 
(^Theodore expresses that he attends to De VEpee/ s 
signs.) 

Mar. In your opinion, — 

De VE. {Makes a sign^ Theodore writes.) 

Mar. Who is the greatest genius,— 



56 DEAF AND DUMB. 

De VE. {Makes a sign Theodore writes,) 

Mar, That prance has ever produced ? 

De VE. (Makes a sign^ Theodore writes.) 

De VE. (Takes the paper from the table and 
shews it to Franval ) You see he has written 
the question distinctly. 

(De PEpee returns the paper to Theodore^ zt'ho for 
a moment sits motionless and meditating. 

Mar, He seems a little at a loss. 

De VE, I don't wonder at it,-~if s a delicate 
question. {Theodore starts from his reverie—looks 
affectionately at De VEpee — wipes his eyes^ and 
writes with the utmost rapidity.) 

Fran. Look, look, what fire sparkles in his- 
eyes ! What animation in every turn ! I dare 
promise you, this will be the answer of a feehng 
heart, and an enlightened mind, {Theodore starts 
up — presents the paper to Marianne — and desires 
her to read it to the company, Madame Franval 
and Franval look over Marianne as she reads ; — 
Theodore runs to De VEpee^ and looks at him with 
fond curiosity,) 

Mar, {Reads,) " In your opinion, who is the 
greatest genius that France has ever produced ?" 

Mad. F. Ay — what does he say to that ? 

Mar. {Reads.) "Science would decide for ^ 
D'^Alemheri^ and Nature say, Buff on ; Wit and 
Taste present Voltaire ; and sentiment pleads 
for Rosseau ; but Genius and Humanity cry out 
for De VEpee ; and him 1 call the best and great- 
est of human creatures." {Marianne drops the 
paper^ and retires to a chair in tears. Theodore 



DEAF AND DUMB. 57 

throws himself into De VEpee^s arms. M, Franval 
and Franval look at each other in astonishment) 

De VE. ( With an emotion which he strives to re- 
press,) You must excuse him ; 'tis a great mis- 
take ; but a very, very pardonable one 

Fran. ( Takes up the paper ^ and examines it.) I 
can hardly credit what I see. 

Mad F. What do you thmk of this Darlemont 
now ? {Theodore and Madame Franval go to 
Marianne.) 

Fran. This decision discovers an extent of 
acquirements, and shews a purity of taste, that 
— {To De PEpee) What study, what pains, must 
it have cost you to accomplish such effects ! 

De VE. 1 o tell you what it has cost me, were 
impossible — but the bare thought of prompting 
to the forgetfulness of nature — of calling forth 
the faculties of mind — this one persuasion gives 
strength, courage, and perseverance to accom- 
plish miracles. If the laborious husbandman, 
when he views rich harvest waving over the 
lands he has fertilized, experiences a pleasure 
proportioned to his toils — ^judge what are my 
sensations, when, surrounded by my pupils, I 
watch them gradually emerging from the night 
that overshadows them, and see them dazzled 
at the widening dawn of opening Deity, 'till the 
full blaze of perfect intellect informs their souls 
to hope and adoration This is to new-create 
our brethren. What transport to bring man ac- 
quainted with himself! — Enjoyments, 1 own, 
there may be, more splendid, more alluring ;—- 

6* 



58 DEAF AND DUMB. 

but I am sure, that, in the wide round of our ca- 
pacities, none ^ill be found more true. 

Fran. They are the just reward of such be- 
nevolence—and if my efforts — 

{Claudine and Dominique^ without.^ 

Dom, Come back, come back ; — I tell you, 
Claudine, you can't see her. 

Clau. I tell you I must and wall see her, if I 
search the whole house after her. 
( Theodore, Madame Franval^ and Marianne con^e 
forward.) 

Enter (^LAViymE.^ followed by Dominique, r.h. 

Clau. {To Madame Franval.) I beg pardon 
for being so bold — 

Dam. {To Marianne.) She slipp'd by, the 
back way, and got the start of me. {Theodore 
on the entrance of Claudine.^ appears struck with 
recollection of her ; then falls in the most lively 
agitation ; and signifies to De P Epee.^ that she was 
wife to the porter of the house he lived in., and had 
been his nurse. De PEpee answers him in signs of 
surprise and joy.) 

Clau. {To Franval.) Sir, I beg pardon ; yet, 
when the heart is full — This dear young lady 
has been so good — {Kisses Marianne'' s hand.) 

Mad. F. What does all this mean Marianne ? 

Mar. {Hesitating.) Madam — 

Clau. Sweet saint ! — She blushes to speak her 
own good deeds. Ah, madam, this angel of a 
girl, heard 1 was in distress, and has been of a 
long time my benefactress ; I never knew what 



DEAF AND DUMB. 59 

charitable hand was stretched to me, till this 
morning Dominique told me — 

Dom, No, I didn't tell you ; you coax'd it out 
of me. Come away, come away — you're a rare 
one to keep a secret ! (Signs to her to be gone,) 

De PE. Good woman ! g-ood woman ! 

Clau. Me, sir? {Curtseying,) 

De VE. You lived formerly in the Palace of 
Harancour ? 

Clau. My husband was porter there nine and 
twenty years. 

De VE, Do you remember young count Julio, 
your late master's son ? 

Clau. Remember him ? — I had him in my arms 
the very hour he was born. My lady died 
in child bed ; I was his nurse — his mother, beg- 
ging your pardon, I may say— and a sweet babe 
he was. 1 shall never forget him. His death 
was a hard pinch to us all. ^ {Weeping.) 

{Theodore gazes on Claudine.^ in great agita^ 
tion.) 

De VE. {Takes Theodore by the hand^) Did 
you ever see his face ? 

Clau {Starting.) Merciful goodness I why 
sure — {Theodore Jlings back the hair from his 
forehead^ ^c.) 

Clau. It is, it is he — it is young count Julio 
himself! 

{Theodore^ as she runs to him.^ and is falling 
at his feet, immediately prevents and kisses her.) 

Dom. Ha ! ha !— and there I had like not to 
have let her in. 

De VE, Providential encounter ! 



60 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Fran, This may lead to other proofs. — 

Mad, F. AxvA confound the insolent Darlemont 
— Now, son ! 

Clau. If my poor Blaise were but alive ! — But 
where has he been — the dear boy ! where has 
he- 

De VE. Hush ! — recollect yourself: are you 
so thoroughly convinced, that this is JuHo of 
Harancour, that you dare solemnly attest it — 

Clau. To the whole world — to men and an- 
gels — eatth and heaven. 

Fran, CanH you immediately, without letting 
'em knoV what has pass'd, bring hither some 
others of the servants, who knew Count Julio in 
his infancy ? 

Clau. To be sure ; there's the coachman's 
widow living still ; and there's — 

Dom. Ay, so there is ; and there's Denys the 
groom besides, and his old wife — they don't live 
far off. 

Mad, F, Fetch 'em this moment— fetch 'em 
all. 

Dom, Come along, Claudine — come along. 

{Going.) 

Fran. And — not a word, for your lives. 

Dom. Oh !— I know better than to chatter 
about what doesn't concern me. Long live 
Count Julio ! 

Fran. Dominique 

Dom, Oh ! — come along, Claudine. 

[Exeunt^ Dominique and Claudine^ r.h. 

Mad F. There, there; make haste, make 
haste ! 



DEAF AND DUMB. Gl 

Mar. My dear madam, if they should disco- 
ver — 

Mad F. Daughter, daughter, he must be pun- 
ished for his ambition — his insolence must be 
humbled.~Son, we'll leave you together.~Come, 
we'll shew the Count of Harancour his apart- 
ment. — (^Signs to Theodore to go with her — he 
takes her handS) 

[Exeunt^ Madame Franval^ r.h. very ceremonious- 
ly ; Theodore nodding to De VEpee ; S^ Marianne^ 
with an imploring look to Franval. 

Fran, I have already told you, the friendship 
that binds me to St. Alme, imposes on me the 
duty of proceeding by the gentlest steps. I now 
propose, that we present ourselves at the Pal- 
ace of Harancour — there, jointly, and in private, 
we may attack this Darlemont ; you, with the 
energy so good a cause inspires ; and I, with all 
the terror of the laws. He must be more har- 
dened and audacious than I think him, if he can 
withstand us. 

De VE. I agree : and a thought this instant 
strikes me, which, if he is not quite a monster, 
must insure our success. [Exeunt, l.h. 

END OF ACT III. 



62 DEAF AND DUMB. 



^ ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The Room in the Palace of Harancour. 
The Picture being removed. 

Enter Darlemont and Pierre, r.h, 

Dar. Go and inquire immediately. [Exit 
Pierre^ l.h.] Vain, groundless apprehensions, 
leave me ! — what an absurd propensity there 
is in man to be his own tormentor — to conjure 
up theiwildesl visions — to fancy the most fnght- 
ful accidents — and shake the more, the more 
preposterous the terrors are which his imagina- 
tion creates ! 

/Je-ew^er Pierre, r.h. 

Pie, Sir, my master is not come in yet. 

Dar. I suppose, he's at FranvaPs then. 

Pie. No, sir, he's not — they sent here just 
now to inquire for him. 

Dar. {Aside.) My son opposing all my wishes 
— my servant ready to betray me — whom can 
I trust in ? — my ambition is my curse — the 
moment I attam'd its object, my plagues began 
— where is Dupre ? 

Pie. Shut up in his own room. 

Dar. {Alarmed.) Is any body with him ? 

Pie. No, sir, I saw him go in alone, and 
heard the door lock. {Going.) 



DEAF AND DUMB. 63 

Dar, Well ! — Pierre, — Have you seen any 
thing more of these — 

Pie. What, the strangers, sir ? 

Dar. So very like the No, nothing. — 

You may go. [Exit Pierre^ l.h.] Dumb ! — 
Like the picture ! — Should he be still alive — 
should some infernal accident have returned 
him hither — well, how will he prove his story ? 
— his death is registered : that testimony no 
evidence but Dupre's can now invalidate ; and 
him, too, 1 might set at defiance, and be at rest 
for ever, could I but link my interest to the 
President's by this marriage with his daughter ; 
that would place me beyond the result of 
danger. 

Enter St. Alme, l.h. who stands at a distance as if 
not daring to approach his father. 

I am on the rack, till it is accomplished. 

St. A. Am I permitted, sir, 

Dar. {Alarmed.) Who's there ? 

St. A. I was told, sir, you wish'd to see me, 

Dar. I do — and let me warn you, sir, that 
unless you come resolved to show a proper 
sense of duty to your father, you have heard 
that wish for the last time. Tell me, where 
have you been all this morning ? 

St. A. My father, it is not in my nature to 
dissemble with you — I come from the Presi- 
dent's. 

Dar {Startled.) Ha ! What was your business 
there, and without me. 



64 DEAF AND DUMB. 

St. A. To lay open my whole soul before 
him — to acquaint him from my own lips with 
my engagements to Marianne. (Darlemont starts.) 
pardon me, sir — O, think how resistless must he 
the power that over-masters me, since it could 
hurry me to make this declaration, even at the 
risk of your displeasure. 

Dar. (Stifling his rage.) Well, sir — what was 
his answer ? 

St. A. Noble, kind, and like himself. He 
gently told me, it would have been the pride of 
his heart, and the comfort of his declining years^ 
to have seen me happy with his daughter ; but 
that the choice I had made did me honour — 

Dar. (^Gradually giving way to his fury.) How ? 

Si. A. And that the ties by which I was 
engaged to so worthy an object must be indisso- 
luble. 

Dar. {Bursting out.) Parricide ? You have 
undone me. Vain empty schemes of human 
foresight ! — I possess myself of my ne — of a 
vast inheritance, — 1 devote it to your advance- 
ment — employ it to ally you with the most 
powerful and wealthy family in Languedoc — 
and, when I have succeeded in removing every 
prejudice, every obstacle, you dare to make a 
mockery of my solicitudes, and audaciously 
reject power, rank, fortune, for the interested 
attractions of a beggar, the seductive arts of a — 

St. A. O, no — that she has fix'd me her's, 
and her's alone, 'tis true ; but, sir, 'twas without 
artifices, as it was without design ; her enchant- 
ing loveliness, my father, — her innocence, if 



DEAF AND DUMB, 65 

possible, still more lovely — these are the seduc- 
tions, these the arts, this virtuous girl has 
practis d on me. 

Dar, {Bursting into tears.) Short-sighted, fool- 
ish parents ! for thankless children, thus to plunge 
yourselves in guilt and danger. 

St. A O, sir ! — {Affectionately.) - Surely, you 
are in no danger ? 

Dar. {Resolutely.) No ! I don't know what I 
am. Yet, should the world once suspect — 

S'^. A. Who can live fairer in the opinion of 
the world ? 

Dar. He who lives fair in his own mind. 

St. A. For heaven's sake, sir, what labours in 
your bosom ? 

Dar. O, misery ! to think I have a son, and 
want a friend ! 

St. A. You rend my heart with these doubts. 
Honour me as a friend ; shew me how I may 
serve my father — and let man and heaven re- 
nounce me, if I forget the duty of a son ! 

Dar. {Eagerly.) Do you speak this from your 
soul ? May I depend on you ? 

St. A. Can it be a question, sir ? 

Dar. {Solemn and earnest.) Then return to 
the President — 

St A Ha ! 

Dar. Retrieve the mischief— apologize, plead, 
obtain the daughter. 

St. A. Sir!— 

Dar. If you have the affection of a son, — if 
you value the safety, life, and honour of your 
father — go. 



m . DEAF AND DUMB. 

St. A. Your agitation terrifies me. Tell me, 
I conjure you, tell me the cause of it. 

Dar. Impossible ! — Think, 'tis no trivial cause 
that could induce me to plead by dark hints for 
a son's obedience. 

St. A Speak, sir — O, speak ! 

Dar. It is not to be told. Nothing but the 
support of rank, wealth, office, can secure me : 
the gulph of ruin gapes at my feet ; I call on 
my son, — him to whom I have given life — for 
whom I have risk'd life, infamy, and perdition — 
1 once more call on him — save me, or never 
^ee me more. [Exit^ r.h. 

St. A. Such guilt ! Such danger ! Can this be 
real ? — Impossible !— 'Tis but a cruel artifice to 
extort my consent to this hated marriage. Un- 
kind father ! Thus with suborn'd emotions, to 
practice on the affections of a son, who would 
die for you. 

Enter Pierre, l.h. 

Pie. Sir, the porter says, Dominique was 
here just now in a great hurry to ask for you. 

♦S^. A. 1 come. — Yes, Franval — my friend — 
my brother ! — your advice and assistance are the 
only reliance left me. [Exit.^ l.h. 

Fie. And now for a little chat with Dupre 
about this picture. [Exit^ r.h. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 67 



8CENE II. — FranvaVs Study as before. 

Enter Madame Franval, Marianne, De L'Epee, 
and Franval, r,h. with a paper in his hand. 

Mad. F. Bless my soul ! — Where can they be ? 
No news of these witnesses yet ? 

De VE. We must have patience, madam. 

Mad. F. This Dominique is so slow ! 

Fran. {To De PEpee,) How severe is the 
duty you have impos'd on me ! Must i present 
the accusation of the father of St. Alme ? My 
heart bleeds at the thought ! 

De PE. Would he had been less criminal, and 
Theodore less injur''d ! 

Mad. F. No, no, his punishment cannot be 
too sudden, nor too public. 

Fran. Think of his virtuous son. 

Mar. {M'ith the utmost tenderness.) Who, inno- 
cent of his crimes, would share in his disgrace. 

De VE. Besides, madam, we must remember 
that he still is my poor boy's uncle — his mother's 
brother. 

Mad. F. How the Count of Harancour could 
stoop to marry into such a family — and then, to 
make this wretch his eventual heir ! 

De VE. Integrity and honour, it may be, 
governed his life, till this temptation over-power'd 
him ; at least under that persuasion, madam, I 
would first try, whether he mayn't still be re- 
claimable by lenient means. 

Fran, On that I am fix'd. 



68 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Mad. F. Remember, I tell you, he'll treat all 
your sentiments, and your lenient means, with 
contempt. 

Enter St. Alme, l.h. in the deepest dejection, 

Fran. Then, madam — St. Alme ! I wish'd to 
see you. (i/e goes to St. Alme and they talk 
together.) 

De VE. Is this his son? {To Marianne.) 

Mar. Yes, sir. 

Mad. F. Daughter! [Exit Madame Franval^ 
R.H. looking disdainfully at St. Alme.) 

Mar. {To De VE.) O, sir, speak with him— 
acquaint yourself with the virtues of his heart, 
then ask your own, whether ignominy be his 
desert ! [Exit in tears ^ r.h. 

Fran. {To De VE.) My friend requests a 
moment's conversation. 

De VE. Honour and persuasion sit on his 
brow ; trust him at once — his father will never 
be able to resist him. 

Fran. You judge him by yourself. 

De VE. Try every thing. — Theodore shall 
know that his cousin is here. [Exit^ r.h. 

Fran. St. Alme, why are your looks so sad ? 

St. A. My distresses double every moment, 
and are inexplicable. The stern reserve, in 
which my father has so long wrapp'd himself, is 
suddenly chang'd to terrors that distract him, 

Fran. {Aside.) Indeed ! 

St. A. The horror of his thoughts seem ago- 
nizing. To me he appeals for safety — yet 
mysteriously hides from me the cause of his 



DEAF AND DUMB. 69 

alarm : by the sacred names of son and friend — 
with prayers, with tears, and solemn warnings, 
I am adjured to shield a father from perdition. 

Fran. (^Aside.) Surely he can't have heard — 
what are the means ? {To St. Alme.) 

St. A. The means ? The sacrifice of friend- 
ship, happiness, and love. O, heaven, can this 
be just ?— And yet, he is my father. 
Fran, Ay, would he were not ! 

St. A. Hold, hold, Franval — If you are my 
friend, no wish like that. 

Fran, I am your friend — and have an office to 
discharge, that might better suit your bitterest 
enemy. 

St. A. No word against my father ; or, here 
for ever — 

Fran. Be calm, and hear me. You had a 
cousin, Julio Count of Harancour ! 

St. A. You know, J had. 

Fran, St. Alme, I can't proceed ; I cannot tell 
you — yet you must know it, for all your sakes. 

St. A. Speak out at once. 

Fran. 1 want the courage to reveal it. 

St. A. Speak— what of Juho ? 

Fran. You lov'd him. 

*S^. A. Dearly as my own life. 

Fran. You would not see him wrong'd. 

St. A. What mean you ?— Wrong'd !— Who 
wrongs him ?— 'Tis eight years and more, since 
Julio died in Paris. 

Fran. Ay, in the report of guilt. 

St. A. Sir, in the report of Darlemont — - 
Wrong'd! He died in Paris. 



TO DEAF AND DUMB. 

Fran, No, no. 

St A, Whither would these dark insinuations 
tend ? Merciful heaven, add not to my miseries, 
that of hating the brother of Marianne ! — Julio- 
Fran. Is still alive. 

St. A. Franval — You are deceived — the at- 
testation of his death is in my father's hands ; 
Dupre was present in his last moments, and is a 
surviving witness to it. 

Fran. Indeed ? Then let your own eyes judge 
between us. Look, who comes here. Darle- 
mon! declares Count Julio dead — I, Franval, 
present him living. There — 

Enter De L'Epee and Theodore, r.h. 

St. A. All gracious heaven ! Do my eyes de- 
ceive me ? Risen from the dead ! It is, it is — 
(Theodore.^ after they have gazed a moment on each 
other^ utters a shriek of joy^ and rushes into St. 
Alme'^s arms.) 

De V E. No, you are not deceived. He calls 
you friend — he speaks to you in smiles and 
tears, the language of the heart — his only lan- 
guage. 

St. A. Can this be real ? I know not yet — 
Speechless I — it must, it must be he — my long 
lost, dear, lamented Julio ! — And yet^ stand off 
awhile, and let me gaze till I have satisfied my 
doui^ts. {Theodore affected at St. Aimers putting 
him away^ hastily recollects himself bares his right 
arm and points to the scar upon it. — ♦S'^ Alme 
bursting into tears^ runs to him^ and kisses the 
scar,) 



DEAF AND DUMB. 71 

St, A. That scar I 

De VE. O, nature, nature, how resistless is 
thy eloquence ! 

Fran. St. Alme, compose yourself, I shudder 
for the final close of this discovery. 

St. A. It is, it is my Julio. Friend ! Com- 
panion ! Preserver of my life ! I'm lost in joy 
and wonder. To whom are we indebted for this 
strange blessing* ? 

Fran. To him — to the benevolence of De 
PEpee. 

St. A. De PEpee ! Has Julio been an object 
of your generous pity ? O, sir, — I can't thank 
you. {Kisses De PEpee^s hand.) Come, come, 
my dear Julio — {To De V Epee.) my father's 
gratitude shall bless 3^ou — how will he rejoice 
at this event ! Let us haste to him — he has been 
much altered since your loss ; your presence 
shall dispel all gloom, and his heart dance with 
transport to behold you. 

Fran. Hold, hold, one moment. 

{Madame Franval and Dupre within.) 

Mad, F. {Within^ l h.) Come in, come in, 
Dupre — he is here — it's all true. 

Fran. Dupre ! {Looking at St Alme.) 

Dup. {Within.) Where is he? Let me see 
him, let me see him. 

Enter Madame Franval and Dupre, l.h. 

Fran. How has he learned — 
Dup, No — Pierre was not mistaken. O, Julio, 
Julio ! {Throws himself at Theodore'^s feet.) 



72 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Mad. F. We expect the other ssrvants every 
moment. 

St. A All overjoyed to hear of his return. 

{Th:odore instantly recollects Dupre^ shrinks 
from him^ and explains to De VEpee whom he is,) 

Dup Now I have seen him once again, let 
me but ask forgiveness, and expire at his feet. 

De VE. (7'o St. A.) This man seems strange- 
ly agitated, 

St. A. Forgiveness! What does he mean? 
He was his favourite servant, and attended Julio, 
when my father carried him to Paris. 

Dup. {Starting up.) Yes, I am that ungrateful 
viper— that villain who became the accomplice 
of an act-T-He lives, however, and I can now 
substantiate the truth Drag me away — 1 am 
ready— Deliver me and my seducer to the just 
punishment of our crimes 

De VE, You went with him to Paris about 
eight years ago. 

Dup, Yes, yes — with Darlemont, with Darle- 
mont ! 

St. A. With Darlemont ! What then ? 

Fran, St. Alme ! St. Alme ! 

St. A Rack me not thus, but speak. , 

Dup. 1 must — and may my true confession and 
remorse find acceptance there {Pointing to /tea- 
ven.) towards the remission of my guilt ! 

D VE, Be but sincere, it will. — Go on. 

Dup. The very evening we reached Paris, 
your father pointing to a small trunk, sternly 
ordered me to dress his nephew in those clothes 
f*— it contained a beggars wretched covering, 



DEAF AND DUMB. 73 

(^St. Alme starts back^ and turns away a moment^ 
hiding his face.) 

Mad F, The very rags they brought him to 
you in. 

Dup. Muffled in these tatters, shrouded by 
midnight darkness, my master hurried him away 
— and, till this moment, 1 never saw hira more, 

St A, Strike me with deafness, heaven ! 

Mad. F. Why didn't you immediately accuse 
him? He might have murdered the poor child 
for ought you knew. 

Dup. At first, I fear'd it. PressM and over, 
powered by my suspicions on his return alone, 
he own'd that he had put in execution the de- 
sign which brought him to Paris, and under 
shelter of the night, had lost the disguised and 
helpless innocent beyond recovery, in the inex- 
tricable mazes of that wide city. 

Mad. F, Thank heaven, he'll find himself 
disappointed and detected ! 

De VE. Madam— well, sir — 

Dup, In order to possess himself of the es- 
tates of the young count, it still was necessary 
that he should prove his death. Two witnesses 
were wanting : seduc'd by gold, one, since dead, 
was the poor wretch we lodg'd with. 

Fran, The other — was yourself: and by this 
dark and perjured attestation — 

St, A, His name annihilated, his rich inheri- 
tance purloined, his death a forgery, and my 
own father the perpetrator! — Saints of hea- 
ven, guard my soul from desperation ! — Already 
the licentious rabble point at me as I pass, — I 



74 DEAF AND DUMB. 

hear them cry, there goes the monster, the un- 
natural villain, who conspir'd to rob his noble 
kinsman, the friend of his youth, the saviour of 
his life, and turned him forth, naked and speech- 
less on a desert and unpitying world ! — 

De PE, Listen, sir, listen for a moment to a 
stranger, who views the dignity of your sorrow 
with reverence, and the severity of your fate 
with compassion ; be just to yourself, you are 
not guilty. 

St, A. Compassion? O heaven ! Am I not his 
son? Not guilty? I'll hear of no compassion. 
Proclaim our crimes ; clothe us in the same in- 
famy ; overwhelm us in one common ruin ; raise 
monuments to perpetuate the villany of the 
house of Darlemont ; let the name be recorded 
as pestilential to virtue, and the race extermi- 
nated from the world for ever ! (*S7. Ahne 
throws himself in an agony on a chair, Theodore^ 
to whom De PEpee has explained Dupre^s confes- 
sion,^ endeavours by every means to console him.) 

Dap. Since that fatal deed, my horj»or and 
remorse have never given me one moment's 
peace. But heaven is just ; it has preserved 
this noble youth, and sends me to unload my 
conscience at the tribunal of the laws. — Deliver 
me this moment to them. — 1 know the punish- 
ment that awaits me, and am resigned to it ; too 
blest at last, if in confessing and expiating the 
crimes to which I have been an accomplice, I 
can repair the evils they have caus'd. 

St. A (Starting up^ as if with a sudden thought^ 
mid rushing forzfcard between De P Epee and Franz 



DEAF AND DUMB. 75 

val.) Yes, yes— they must be repaired. Fol- 
low me, wretched old man. 

Fran. St. A I me, where are you going. 

*S^ A. Where despair calls me. 

De VE. Look on your Julio. 

St. A. The sight of him drives me to madness. 

Fran. What is your design ? 

St. A. To avenge him, or die. — Come, villain. 
[Exit St. Alme^ l.h. dragging Dupre away with 
him. Dupre looking back on Theodore. 

Fran. 1 must follow and detain him ; or, in 
this madness of conflicting passions, he may 
publish his fathers crimes, and defeat our very 
hope to save him from such dishonour. 

[Exit^ L.H. 

Mad. F. We follow you. Well, this St. Alme, 
is a very good young man, upon my word ; and, 
though he is Darlemont's son, I can't help being 
concerned for him, i protest. 

De PE. Franval speaks highly of his virtues 
and his honour. Ah ! thou poor reed, shaken 
so long by storms? How this eventful day may 
end for thee, heaven knows ! But come my 
Theodore — should an unfeeling uncle persist in 
renouncing thee, should the laws reject thy ap- 
peal — thou shall still find a warm, though hum- 
ble, asylum, in the affection of De PEpee. 

[Exeunt^ rh. 

END OF ACT IV. 



76 DEAF AND DUMB. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— ne Room in the Palace of Haran- 
cour. The Picture having been removed, 

Enter Philippe, Pierre, Charles, and 
Etienne, r.h. 

Pie. Nay, nay, don't be in such a hurry. 
Friends! fellow servants ! what have I done? 
what have I done ? 

f'hil. Nay, nay : no hanging back : — ^you must 
come to my master. 

Cha. Come along ; come along. 

Pie. Let me go, I say. I am coming along ; 
but you have a mind to strangle me before I 
get there. Hands off, gentlemen ! {Disenga- 
ges himself from them.) \ won't be dragged in 
this manner, like a lamb to a slaughter-house. 
What's the meaning of this ? what's the matter, 
I say ? 

Phil. O, poor innocent creature ! you'll know 
vrhat the matter is, sooner than you desire, I 
fancy. You must always act the great man ; 
you must affect to be in all your young master's 
secret's \ 

Pie. I ! — f wrish I may be hanged if I know 
any of his secrets. 

Eti. Ay, ay ; so you say. You call us wretch- 
ed plodders, you know. What do you think of 
us now ? my master has been in a fine rage about 
you and Dupre : you must be tatthng. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 77 

Pie. Tattling? 

Eti. Ay ; you have been telling Dupre some- 
thing or other. 

Pie^ Me ! upon my soul ! 

PhiL Well, well, it doesn't signify ; whatever 
it was, it drove Dupre into the square, raving 
like a madman, and my master has been raving 
ever since. He has almost murdered the por- 
ter, I can tell you, for letting Dupre out, — 
against his express orders, it seems. 

Pie. Letting him out ! and why not ? where 
is he gone ? 

Eti. 1 fancy, that's the very thing my master 
wishes to know. 

Pie. Is it ? I'm sure then he wishes to know 
more than I can tell him. 

Phil. Ay, ay, that's your business : but he'll 
find a way to make you tell him, I believe. 

Pie. Make me tell! None of your imperti- 
nence, if you please, sir. 

Eti. Don't make a fool of yourself, but come 
quietly with us : we shall all be finely handled for 
staying so long. 

Pie. Handled, indeed ! Come, I like that too : 
— handled ! 

Phil. Don't be too flippant, friend Pierre ; 
he's in a most unmerciful humour, I promise 
you. 

Pie. This is all about that confounded pic- 
ture, I suppose. My cursed cariosity will be 
the ruin of me at last. 

Phil. Eti, Cha. Come away! come away! 
8 



78 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Pie. Well, well ; friends, fellow-servants, gen- 
tlemen ! . [Exeunt^ L.H. 

SCENE II. — A Saloon in the Palace of Haran- 
coiiVy in which the Picture is now placed. 

Enter Darlemont, l.h. 

Dar. Doubt 1 horror ! and distraction I Where 
now can I look for support? my son estranged 
from me ! Dupre a fugitive ! All torments that 
disobedience, treachery, and self-condemnation 
carj, conjure up, beleaguer and confound me ! 

{A noise without r.h.) 

Enter Phillippe, r.h.d. 

Now, sir? 

Phil. We have brought him, sir : Pierre is at 
the door. 

Dar. So! he's in the plot too. Bring him in. 
— [Exit Philippe^ r.h.d.] Down, thronging ap- 
prehensions, down ! I shall betray myself 

Enter Pierre, Philippe, Etienne, and Charles, 

R.H.D. 

Tell me sirrah! whether is he fled? 

Pie. Fled, sir! Who, sir? 

Dar. No prevarication, rascal !— the hypo- 
critical complotter of your schemes, — Speak ! — 
Dupre, — where is he ? 

Pie, If you'll believe me, sir, I can't tell. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 79 

Dar. I'll not believe you, villain! I'll have 
the truth, though I tear it out of your heart, 1 
know you went to him into his room : deny that 
too. 

Pie. Went to him in his — yes, yes, I did, I be- 
lieve, — I did, sir. 

Dar. {Seizing him.) What vras your business 
with him, then ? 

Pie. {Very much frightened.) As I hope for 
mercy, sir, I only went, after you ordered me to 
take away the young count's picture, just to — 

Dar. {Perceiving the other Servants^ he recovers 
himself.) Go ; I'll call you, when I have done 
with him. [Exeunt Philippe^ Etienne^and Charles^ 
R-H.D. {Darlemont pulls to the door very violently.) 

Pie. Sir, I see I have done something that 
alarms you, — 

Dar. Alarms me ! 

Pie, That displeases you ; I read it in your 
looks: but, what it is, I protest I know no more, 
than I do what has become of Dupre. 

Dar. {Having composed himself) I'm not dis- 
pleas'd; you are mistaken. Come, tell me ho- 
nestly what pass'd between you. 

Pie. Why, nothing, sir : — only, at first, when 
I said something about your bidding me remove 
the picture, he shook his head, with a deep 
groan. So, to spirit him up a little, I told him, 
— as I told you, sir, — that I had seen a young 
gentleman in the morning, a stranger, who 
seem'd deaf and dumb too, as like that picture. 
as if he had sat for it. 

Dar, {Very eagerly,) What did he say to that? 



m DEAF AND DUMB. 

Pie. Not one single word, sir ; but all the 
blood ilew into his face in a moment, and he 
sunk on the table, weeping bitterly ; then he 
wav'd his hand so, — and I left him 

Dar. (^Aside.) Ha ! he has revealed nothing 
yet. — You have seen nothing of him since, 
then? 

Pie. No, sir. 

Dar. Nor of the strangers ? 

Pie. Nothing, sir. 

Dar. Leave me. (^In deep thought crosses to 
L.H ) 

Pie. (^Jiside.) And glad to be so cheaply quit 
too. What is the meaning of all this rout? I 
durst not own that I told Dupre the strangers 
were at FranvaFs. {Going r.h.) 

Dar. And — stay within call [Exit Pierre^ 
R.H.D.] I know not what to think, nor what 
coarse to take Is this fellow's account true, or 
false ? am I betray'd, or not ? nor dare I tax him 
too closely ! that would excite suspicion. Hor- 
rible uncertainty ! O, let no man ever trust him- 
self into the path of guilt! It is a labyrinth be- 
set with dismay and remorse, and not to be re- 
trod without a miracle ! Yet I think, — for his 
own sake, I think, Dupre will not divulge me. 
No, no, this sudden start is but the restlessness 
of his sickly conscience. 

Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. 

Pie. Sir, the Advocate Franval begs the fa- 
vour of a few moments private conversation 
with you. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 81 

Dar, Franval ! With me, or with my son ? 

Pie. With you he said, sir. 

Dar, Tell him, I beg his pardon, I'm particu- 
larly engaged. [^Exit Pierre r.h.d.] He comes 
to torture me on his side ; to prattle to me of 
bis sister, and the match they have so craftily 
settled with St. Alme : but I shall counterwork 
their project. My son is good and dutiful, and 
loves me ; and, though he could withstand my 
commands, I know he can't long be proof to my 
intreaties; and the alliance I have provided, is 
the only imaginable means of securing me and 
himself against all turns of fortune. 

Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. 

Pie, I beg pardon, sir; the Advocate Franval 
has sent me back to inform you, that he has im- 
mediate business of the last importance, and that 
the Abbe De TEpee, from Paris, is with him. 

Dar. (Starts.) Who ? 

Pie. The Abbe De PEpee. 

Dar. What ! the instructor of the deaf and 
dumb ? 

Pie. I don't know, sir ; but I dare say it is; 
for it's the very gentleman that stopp'd me with 
the young stranger in the square this morning. 

Dar. (Having paced once or twice across the 
room in great agitation.) Desire 'em to walk 
up. [Exit Pierre.^ r.HvD. 

He in Toulouse ! accompanied by a youth, — 
speaking by signs, — pointing out this house, — 
and like the picture ! I'll not believe it. What ? 
8 * 



82 DEAF AND DUMB. 

after so many years ? Yet, wherefore should 
this very man address himself to me? I must 
command myself; and by a firm and calm exte- 
rior baffle the keenest scrutiny of suspicion. I 
hear 'em. Be their errand what it may, my re- 
solution's fixed : Defiance is a champion whose 
vig'our may be dreaded ; but Fear, a recreant 
destin'd to fall by the very sword which he sur- 
renders. They come ; I must withdraw one mo- 
ment. [Exit^ L.H. 

Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. introducing Franval, and 
De L'Epee. — Pierre places chairs^ and Exit^ 

R.H.D. 

Fran, Pray, sir, remember; not one word of 
Dupre. I know him well ; to find his servant 
his accuser, would rouse his pride to fury, and 
render all our endeavours to serve him, and in 
him my friend, ineffectual. No hint of Dupre's 
evidence, unless he absolutely drives us to des-r 
perate measures, I beg. 

De VE, 1 shall observe. 

Re-enter Darlemont, l.h. 

(Darlemont and De PEpee eye each other sted- 
fastly — Franval presents De VEpee.) 

De VE, Your servant, sir. {Darlemont bows 
to thern^ points to the chairs^ and they all sit — 
Darlemont in the centre^ evidently struggling with 
his alarm,) 



DEAF AND DUMB. 83 

Dar. You desire, I am told, to speak with me 
in private. May I ask what motive — 

be VE. The deep interest we both take in 
the honour of the father of St. Alme, and the so- 
lemn obligation, we are at the same time under 
to fulfil an act of justice, — these, sir, are the 
motives on which we judg'd it proper to request 
this interview in private. 

Dar, {Embarrassed.^ Does any man suppose 
my honour then in question? 

Fran, A moment's patience, sir. 

Be PE. You are the uncle, and were left the 
guardian, of Julio count of Haranccur. 

Dar. (Shocked.) Well, sir ! 

De VE. Of that unhappy youth, who was de^ 
priv'd by death of the watchful affection of his 
parents, and by nature left destitute of that dis- 
tinctive prerogative of man, the power of ap- 
pealing against injustice and oppression ! 

Dar. (Haughtily.) Oppression? sir! 

De VE. Ha! then you conceive my meaning? 

Dar. (Checking himself.) If you have business, 
state it plainly. 

De VE. Do you desire it ? 

Dar. What means — 

De VE. Are you prepar'd for plain and honest 
speaking ? 

Dar, Vm not prepared for rude interrogation. 

(Rises to go away ) 

Fran. (Rises and stops him.) Listen one in- 
stant, and perhaps, what he has spoken, will 
hardly be construed thus. 



84 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Dar. Damnation! (^Aside.) To the point at 
once. 

De VE, (^Rises.) With all my sou). In one 
plain word then, learn, that chance, or rather 
that good Power that governs chance and the 
destiny of man, first placed your nephew Julio, 
in my hands. This defrauded orphan, whose 
misfortunes should have doubled the tenderness 
of his natural protector towards him ; this out- 
cast, deaf and dumb, is still alive ; and by our 
mouths now demands of you the restitution of 
his name and fortune. 

Dar. {After a convulsion of his whole frame.) 
Lives, do you say ? still lives ? — You will not 
wonder, if I am astonished, while 1 listen to fa- 
bles such as these, 

De VE. No^ sir : Struck as I see you are by 
this discovery, my only wonder is, that your 
emotions are not more terrible. 

Dar. And who are you, who arrogantly pre- 
sume to interpret looks ? You, who attribute the 
crimes you first invent for sordid, selfish ends, 
and dare pronounce men guilty in the face of 
proof? 

Fran. Not so ; the proofs are ours. 

Dar. Away ? My nephew died in Paris. 

Fran. Are you sure of that ? 

De VE. Recollect, sir, that he is your ne- 
phew, and let your conscience answer. Were 
you present in his expiring moments? dare you 
deliberately affirm you saw him dead ? 

Dar. (^After another dreadful emotion., and a 
pause before he can recover himself) And do you 



DEAF AND DUMB. 85 

know the man to whom you put these dishon- 
ourable and malignant questions? 
p Fran, Far otherwise : — ^we come not with ma- 
lignity, but with sincere solicitude to save the 
father of St. Alme, the uncle of Julio, from pub- 
lic ignominy, and inevitat>le impendmg rum. 

Dar, Begone ! And i^ you are vain enough to 
think your brawling eloquence has power to 
overthrow the cre(rit and character of Darle- 
mont, to annul a legal act, a formal register of 
death, exert that power : I huri detiance at you. 

Fran. Rush not on your destruction ; confide 

in us; and believe that, next to those just claims 

of which 1 am the assertor, nothing, no nothing 

j can be more sacred to me, than the honour of 

the father of my friend. 

Dar. My heart throws back the imputation. I 
dare your malice to produce one proof, that this 
suppositious foundling is the descendant of the 
house of Harancour. 

De VE, A thousand ! The time when he was 
found ; his transport on re-entering this the 
lov'd place of his nativity; his emotion on fin|t 
seeing this house ; — 000 

Fran, His infirmity; his striking Hkeness to 
the late President his father ; the declaration of 
poor Ciaudine ; — 

De VE. His own declarations. 

Dar. His declarations ! 

De VE, His. — Be not too obstinately incredu- 
] lous. 

Frail. Yes ; foster'd by his humanity, and guid- 
ed by his lessons, Julio has fouad in De PEpee 



BQ DEAF AND DUMB. 

a more than father : genius has compensated 
the wrongs that nature did him, and made him, 
even in dumbness, eloquently intelligible. 

Dar, Concerted fraud and artifice ! 1 know 
my holds of safety, and despise your menace. 
His death is registered. 

De VE. Suppose that register a forgery. 

Dar. [Aside ) So ; then the villain has be- 
tray'd me ! 

De VE. It staggers him ; we triumph. (^Aside 
io Franval) — I see, your lips are ready to avow 
the secret of your heart. O, for your own sake 
listen to the charities of nature ! 

Fran. Free yourself at once from the tor- 
ments that too long have burrowed in your bo- 
som. 

Dar. Why do 1 submit to the ascendancy these 
men assume over me? 

Fran. {Taking his hand.) Yield to our friend- 
ship. 

De VE, {Taking his other hand.) Yield to our 
prayers. 
^Dar. Leave me, I say — begone ! — Never will 
lUSinowledge this impostor ! {Going.) 

Enter St. Alme, r.h.d. 

St. A. O, my father, have compassion on me ! 
on yourself! my cousin JuHo — 

Dar. What, you conspire against me ! St. 
Alme ! St. Alme ! 

St. A. If I was ever dear to you — 



DEAF AND DUMB. 87 

Dar, Peace, fool ! Join to calumniate your 
father, and defraud yourself! (^DeVEpee sends 
Franval out^ r.h. — he returns immediately.) 

St. JL Do not, do not aggravate our dishonour ! 
— Relent! relent! Let me not hate myself by 
knowing that your affection for me led you into 
crimes, at which your soul revolts. Have I not 
witnessed the agonies of your despair — the hor- 
rors of your self-accusation ? O, sir, do not make 
it believed that you justify the deeds, which i 
know you abhor. 

Dar. Hence ! For ever leave me ! — I can 
maintain my rights though I am deserted by an 
unnatural son. 

St. A. Since you will drive me from you, sir, 
I go — Enjoy your riches ; but enjoy them in 
cheerless solitude : no child, no friend to share 
them. Where I shall hide this dishonoured 
head, I know not. But to haunt with savages, 
or dwell with lepers, will be paradise to that 
board, where a son and father must daily meet, 
blacken'd with mutual guilt, and consciously 
living under each other's contempt. % 

(Going m*^') 

Dar. Stay, ruffian ! monster ! — No, begone — 
league with the assassins of your father, and of 
your own hopes ; 1 shall find means to confront 
you all. {Going l.h.) 

Enter Madame Franval, Theodore, and 
Marianne, r.h.d. 

St. A, Confront this witness too. {Points to 
Theodore.) 



88 DEAF AND DUMB. 

Dar. {Turns round and sees Theodore.") Hor- 
ror ! madness ' — Hide me from his sight ! 

Su A. Turn to him — take him to you : his 
looks speak blessings and forgiveness. 

Dar. To be disgraced — never ! This is the 
very crisis of my fate, and J will stand the event. 
I do look on him. Is this your instrument ? — I 
know him not — And you at once decide your 
choice — Him, or me, you must renounce this in- 
stant. {To St Alme.) 

St. A. Put me not to so severe a trial. 

Dar, Enough — Tis past — Farewell for ever. 

( Going. \ 

St. A, Falls on his knees^ and catches Darlemont.) 
In the name of all that's sacred, my father ! — 
You heed me not !— You fly me ! — Look on me, 
father ! — For all our sakes — relent — relent ! 

Dar. Never, never 

St. A. O ! sir ! sir — I must be heard. [Exit 
Darlemont l.h. in the greatest agony ^ dragging St, 
Alme after him on his knees. — Theodore all this 
while in the greatest agitation. 

f De PE. Obdurate man ! — Be still, be still, poor 
boy^ou shall have justice yet. 

Mad. F. Now, son ; can you any longer hesi- 
tate ? 

Fran. No ; 1 should become criminal myself, 
if I delayed the execution of the trust repos'd 
in me ; this dreadful memorial must instantly 
be preferred. {Takes the accusation from his 
pocket.) 

Mar. Then we are lost for ever ! 



■i 



DEAF AND DUMB. 89 



Enter Dominique and Claudine, r.h.d. 

Mad. F. Well, Dominique ; well, Claudine ! 
Heyday ! where are your companions ? — What, 
have you brought none of the old servants with 
you? 

Dar. It isn't for want of searching for 'em, 
madam. First, we called at Denys, the groom s ; 
— he and his old wife went out early in the morn- 
ing, nobody knows where 

Clan. Then we went to the coachman's wi- 
dow's. 

Dom, She was gone to pass the day at her 
cousin's in the country. However, we told all 
the neighbours to be sure to tell 'em they were 
wanted, the moment they came back. 

Fran. You took care to conceal the motive of 
our sending for them ? 

Dom. O, to be sure. — You'll never catch me 
blabbing, when Tm trusted with a secret. 

Fra7i. 'Tis well ; wait without. 

[Exeunt Dominique and Claudine^ r.h.d. 
The facts this paper contains, will, I doubt not, 
excite the immediate attention and zeal of the 
magistrates. We must be gone. If St, Alme 
returns in our absence, calm and console him, I 
beseech you ! — You Marianne, particularly — 
you, my sister, tell him what I undergo — But, 
come ; a single moment of delay may — 

[A noise within l.h.) 

Mar. Hark ! hark ! What noise ! 

9 



90 DEAF AND DUMB. 

De VE, It is St. Alme.— Good heaven ! In 
what agitation ! in what alarm ! 

Enter St. Alme, l.h. 

St A. O, sir!— My friend !— 

{Falls 071 Franval) 

Fran. St. Alme ! — Speak — speak — 

St. A. My father- 
Fran. Heavens ! 

St. A. My father— 

De VE. Go on. 

St. A. Distracted hy Julio's wrongs — I ran, 1 
hurst into the chamber with my father — Dupre 
followed, and at once own'd he had reveal'd all to 
you ; and was resolved (unless he did the young 
count, justice) by a public confession to make 
him the partner of his punishment. — My father 
shudder'd — maddening and agoniz'd I drew my 
sword, and vow'd, if he persisted to refuse his 
acknowledgment of Julio, that moment to ex- 
pire on its point before his eyes. — The dread 
of indelible disgrace — the cry of my despair 
— the horror of my death prevailed — nature 
triumphed — my father relented — and with a 
trembhng hand — there, there — {Gives De PEpee 
a paper.) 

De VE. {Reads.) " I do acknowledge Theodore, 
the pupil of De VEpee., to be Julio^ the lawful 
Count of Harancour ; and am prepared imme- 
diately to reinstate him in all his rights. Darle- 
MONT.") To thee, all-gracious heaven, be end- 
less praise and thanks ! (Gives the paper to Thp.o- 
dore. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 91 

Fran, {Tearing the accusation to pieces.) From 
what a load is my heart relieved ! {Theodore^ 
having read the paper ^ throws himself at De 
VEpee'^s feet and kisses them ; rises transported^ 
and embraces Franval : then running towards St, 
Alme^ pauses^ as if struck by some sudden thought ; 
looks stedfastly at him^ and runs to the table^ 
where he writes something under DarlemonVs decla- 
ration,) 

Fran, What would he do ? What is his de- 
sign ? 

De VE. I know not. 

Mad, F. He seems extremely mov'd. 

Mar, How the tears stream from his eyes ! 
{Theodore returns to St. Alme^ takes one of his 
hands and places it on his hearty then gives what 
he has been writing into his other hand^ and makes 
signs to him to read it,) 

St, A. {Reads,) " Half of my fortune%riust be 
yours^ St» Alme — if you refuse me, / here vow again 
to disappear^ and never more be heard of—from our 
cradles we were accustomed to share every good^ like 
brothers — and I can never be happy at the expense 
of my friend.^'^ — Still the same, noble Julio! {Em- 
braces Theodore.) 

De VE, This single act overpays all I have 
done for him. 

Mad, F. The very spirit of the old count. — 
He's his father's own son. 

St, A, O, that I could efface the memory of 
thy wrongs ! How shall I ever bear the weight 
oi that recollection ! 



92 DEAF AND DUMB. 

De VE. [Looking at Marianne,) If this young 
lady would but kindly condescend to take a title 
to assist you, you might, perhaps — 

Mad, F Nay, nay j reflect, sir, that such a 
union would — 

De VE. Bless, for ever bless, two virtuous 
hearts, that heav n formed for each other, and 
make the happmess of this fortunate day com- 
plete. 

Mad. F. 1 protest, 1 can't — really 1 don't 
know — 

Fran. I am sure, madam — 

Mad. F. Upon my word, son, you seem to 
persuade me to any thing. — (I'o St. Alme.) You 
need not speak, sir. — (To Marianne.) No, nor 
you, Mananne. 1 he matter has been settled 
among you, 1 see, and now j^ou pretend to ask 
my approbation : though, after that letter, I as- 
sure yo», if you had not found a friend to whose 
intercession nothing can be refused, I should not 
have been prevailed with to give my consent. 
(JFheodore., after a sign from De VEpee^ kisses Ma- 
rianne^ and gives her hand to St. Alme.) 

St, Jl. O, joy unutterable ! — 

Mar How are we all beholden to your good- 
ness !-• ■ 

De VE. 'Tis to the prudence of your hrother, 
and to the fortitude of St. Alme, we owe our 
final triumph. {To St. Alme.) — ^^Consoled by love, 
by friendship, and a father's return to virtue^ 
all cause of regret may well be forgotten, sir 
— And let us hope, that the example of this 



i\ 



DEAF AND DUMB. 



93 



protected orphan, may terrify the unjust man 
from the abuse of trust, and confirm the benevo- 
lent in the discharge of all the gentle duties of 
humanity. 



Disposition of the Characters when the Curtain falls. 




R.H. 



CURTAIN. 



L.H. 



I 



OXBERRY'S EDITION 



OF 



Etit ^m ^mmti ^vumu. 



f ▼ ELLS & LILLY, (Boston,) have commenced 
reprinting a Series of Plays that are now pub- 
lishing in London, and known as Oxberry's Edi- 
tion, which is the only one ever published contain- 
ing the stage business, and directions for correct 
performance of plays. 

{):5=- A Js/umber is published e^ery Saturday. 
Price to Subscribers^ — each play 25 cents — each 
melo'drame or farce^ 20 cents. 



Extract from the English Publishers^ Prospectus. 

"It is intended by this Publication to comprise the most 
popular Theatrical Pieces of every description, and to gratify 
the lovers of Dramatic Literature and the Professors of the Stage, 
with a standard and portable edition of the English Dra- 
ma, arranged in a style of novelty and excellence unknown to 
the manifold selections of a comparative nature by which this 
work has been preceded. Not to expatiate upon the glaring 
errors of inadvertence or design, by which the best works of 
this kind are degraded, the present attempt to correct mistake, 
expunge redundancy, and supply omission, will be coupled with 
such features of utility as it is, perhaps, in the power of its 



NEW EN( 



= tlu^^^"^ ^^ CONGRESS 




ostensible Editor alone to a 02V"jg^'''"""J""'ii 
once.be enabled to appreciatrmrTn^miae av.u ,?|L.i..jt_ 
this plan, b3- a disclosure of those points upon which the pul> 
lishors, with most respectful firmness/have founded their claims 
' 10 support. 

^^very Play, Farce, Melo-drame,'6r Opera, wTll be printed 
from its respective official copy. The exact time that each act 
takes in representation will be correctly stated. Parties who 
wish to leave the Theatre at the end of the play may thus order 
their carriages to an exact hour. 

" The sides of entrance and exit will be carefully noted; and 
the Stageplot, or disposition of the characters, given, upon 
every change, in a form of perfect originality, aiid luminous 
information. Such an addendum must -prove of incomparable 
value to provincial performers, by whom the business of the 
scene is at all tim^-'a matter of laborious attainment, and can 
thug alone be rendered an object of e a 53% and authentic ac(]ui- 
sition. 

" Obscure passages in the earliest Poets will be clearly ex- 
plained, the predominant Costume correctly described, and a 
critical Estimate affixed to every Production^ of its literary and 
dramatic pretensions. 

'« The Superintendence of this publication will be assumed 
by W. OXBERRY, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, assist- 
ed, in the editorial department, by public Writers of a* ' 
servation, and erudite rosearch. " Under stich auspices, the 
New English Drama will be fully entitled, it is hoped, to that 
Approbation and Encouragement, which no endeavour or 
pense shall be spared to procure and enlarpc. ' 



ex- 



